Sheogorath's Madness
by Cobar713
Summary: Cyrodiil is pacified. Focus has shifted to the Shivering Isles. After Order has been swept away, can the new Sheogorath rise to assume the role expected of him by his predecessor, people, and fellow daedric princes? -On Hold
1. Chapter 1

The crosses are a reference to Crucible. Anyways...

HAR! This be me first fanfic lads and lassies! It be a large endevour, but I have me summer break approaching at top speed, and hope to see it through with at least two more chapters to be added. It may seem lengthy, but that's just because I wanted to get out the history of Guardian/Sheogorath, and of the new Shivering Isles. If it seems rambly, it's for the same reason.

Lord Sheogorath raised his staff. ""Crucible has a problem with _what_?!"

"As I said, Lord Sheogorath, the Mazken require your assistance in Crucible on a matter concerning the Duchess," Haskill said, unflinching at Sheogorath's outburst. "They say that she is demanding to speak with you about… gods help me, about the madness of your Realm."

"The… the craziness… of…" Sheogorath muttered, at a loss for words.

"My sentiments exactly, Lord Sheogorath," Haskill said in his monotone voice. "She threatens to 'unleash herself upon the Isles' if you do not give her an audience."

"Why on earth don't the Mazken kill her then? What do I pay them for? Oh… never mind that last part."

"The Mazken can't simply kill the leader of the Court of Dementia, even if they'd like to. The people's faith in you right now is tedious at best, what with your change and all. They need a set of strong leaders, both for Dementia and Mania."

"I take it you were the one that prevented the Mazken from simply killing her Haskill," Sheogorath accused, pointing his staff at the chamberlain in a threatening manner.

"Yes my Lord," Haskill admitted with no change in expression. "I feared that, had they acted before the situation could be explained to you, the matter may have gotten out of hand." Sheograth sighed. "Haskill, sometimes I wonder how the realm would fare without your forethought. Well, out with it. What's the best course of action?!"

"My Lord, I can hardly tell you what to do about state matters, I only wished to bring the matter to your attention before any drastic measures were taken by the Mazken."

Sheogorath suspiciously eyed the chamberlain, tapping his foot impatiently.

Haskill sighed. "Very well, my Lord. My advice would be to meet with the Duchess, see what she has to say, and do your best to reason with her."

"Haskill, what would I do without you?" Sheogorath grumbled under his breath, wearily getting up from his throne. Since he was headed to crucible, the Dark Seducer that stood watch eternally over his throne immediately jumped to his side. Giving the Daedra a sidelong look, Sheogorath flipped his scaly tail in a stately manner and started off towards Crucible, Haskill and Dark Seducer escort in tow, grumbling about over-ambitious Mazken.

While Sheogorath walked, his mind wandered aimlessly over the history of his time in the Realm of Sheogorath. He had once been a man named Guardian, after his great-grandfather Guards-His-Horde. Since he had been freed from the Imperial Prison for a crime he couldn't remember, he had scoured the lands of Tamriel, from Anvil to Leyawin, from the borders to Elsweyr to Skyrim, dong everything he could to make Cyrodil a better place. He had defeated Mehrunes Dagon, stopped Mannimarco, revealed the true identity of the Count of Anvil, stopped the Blackwood Company from destroying the fighter's guild, destroyed Umaril the Unfeathered, appeased the Night Mother, and had recovered 15 daedric artifacts which now rested in a sealed chest next to the Holy Relics of the Nine. Finally, he had gone from city to town to village to settlement to farm, looking for any in need. Over the course of his travels, his skill in all things useful to the adventurer had increased. He could fight with any weapon, or none, wear any armor, cast any spell, summon any creature, mix any ingredient with his master's alchemy gear, and could run, jump, barter, smith, sneak, lock-pick, block, and coerce as only a true master could. One aspect of his career in Cyrodil he had been particularly proud of was his idea of getting rid of the goblin problems. He simply took all the totem heads and placed them in an empty cave, then waited. Bam! Instant goblin trap! But that had all been so long ago.

After he had helped free an old Breton spirit from his purgatory by releasing his skeleton on a ship, he had headed north, hearing tales of a strange door opening in Niben Bay. Oh, if only he had known how strange the lands beyond had been!

Again in the Shivering Isles, Guardian had traveled from place to place, helping all those in need, and never quitting until a quest was finished. This had gained the attention of the original Sheogorath, and Guardian had been summoned to his audience. There, the two of them had set out to stop the Greymarch. Long before, Guardian had found his views lied more with Dementia than Mania, for two basic reasons. The first was that he pitied the insane, and disliked Mania's attitude about them, and about life, a view that his contact with feldew had reinforced. He shuddered slightly at the memory, creeping through those dank tunnels, eyes hungrily searching for his next fix. At the shudder, his attending Mazken tensed and looked around, alert for danger. Sighing and touching her shoulder, Sheogorath shook his head and walked on, his enchanted daedric boots sloshing in the muck of Crucible's streets. Overhead, the perennial overcast sky was about to burst forth with rain, though the brown, swollen roots that came from the fungus tat was rife throughout the city hardly looked parched, or even dry. The houses were run-down, and he was reminded of the town of Bravil, with its rundown houses and skooma dens lining the streets. He shuddered at the thought of the drug, once more causing his Mazken to tense.

The second reason for Guardian's taking more to Dementia had been the Mazken themselves. Known to him then only as the Dark Seducers, he had thought the nam had aptly suited their bluish skin, their generous curves, and their scant, though protective, armor. They had also seemed more likely to break from their dogma of 'protect and kill' than their Holy Saint counterparts, whom had immediately given Guardian a sense of inferiority when he had looked upon them, with their tall, imposing figures, and sharp eyes that could pierce you just as well as their sword could. Still, now that he was in charge, they gave him a much greater level of deference, and they made great soldiers.

Because he had been so much keener on Dementia, Guardian had made significant changes in the status quo of the realm. From Xeddefen, to Cylarne, to lighting the Torch of New Sheoth, to becoming a noble, time after time he had aided the cause of Dementia, until both factions were equal and the Enforcers were on equal footing within their own an each other's areas of jurisdiction. That is to say, both groups of Daedric Enforcers stayed within their own boundries, with the exception of Cylarne, which was frequently visited by Dark Seducer ships, and it was rapidly starting to lose it's feel of Mania. The one difference was Split. Since it technically lay on both sides of the border, he had simply decreed that a wall would be built between the two groups of citizens, and new houses would be built to accommodate them. He had waited until the transition from Guardian to Sheogorath had been completed (Guardian had simply wanted to ask Sheogorath for his advice on the matter), then had ordered the change.

Things in the Shivering Isles were calming fast as Order was swept away. However, Sheogorath had recognized (with a bit of prompting from Haskill) the need for governors more closely aligned with their respective factions to be involved with the Realm's affairs as well. With this in mind, Sheogorath had recreated the courts of Mania and Dementia, and had also installed new rulers as their heads. In Dementia, he had chosen the daughter of the old Duchess, Syl, whose name was Antigone. Antigone was far less paranoid than her mother had been, and was more confident in her own skills, and the skills of her guardians to stop any potential threat. Thusly, she was much more capable to handle the pressing affairs of state which Sheogorath had been reluctant to handle himself, since he had matters of his own to deal with, such as his potential mortality, and defending the realm. He had never seen a person more devoted to Dementia, except maybe the priest of Dementia, which was currently in favor in the Temple of New Sheoth. Because of that, the sudden outburst that the small party was on its way to deal with was a mystery to Sheogorath. The Mad Lord thought it over, scratching his scaly chin idly. Giving up, he allowed his mind to wander anew.

Mania had been a bit harder, since the old duke (saying his name was forbidden, for obvious reasons) had had no children to call his own. However, one of the Duke's closest consorts, a Kajit named Mind-Bender, had stepped forth to assume the post after no other could be found. His qualifications had been impressive; he had preached Mania at the Temple for a few years, and had actively been involved in Mania's politics, so he obviously understood the inner-workings of the upper-half of the Shivering Isles.

Looking up, Sheogorath realized that both he and his Mazken escort had been walking in circles for about a half-hour while he had mused. Turning his head forward, he spotted Haskill waiting dutifully for them at the entrance to the temple, where Antigone had requested to meet them. Sighing and twirling his staff, Sheogorath picked up the pace, jogging over to join Haskill at the foot of the temple.

Review pls.


	2. Chapter 2

Okay guys (unless of course, no one is reading this story, in which case T_T) sorry about the wait. I had a lot of stuff to do over the summer (I.B English and History of the America's Summer HW fml) so I can only offer you this one chapter. Hopefully it doesn't disappoint! Also, I can't make the story better if I don't get reviews!

Review Response: Soike: Thanks for your input. Yeah, I don't much enjoy crazy people. And thanks for the complement. Guardian is my character, and I am most proud of the goblin trap! (a long assed fight, with a really laggy PS3, but it got the job done!) And about Antigone's hair, if someo0ne could tell me the style I'd be glad to edit it.

Sheogorath twirled his staff idly as he followed Haskill above the windy staircase leading the the court of Dementia. He was worried about the lack of guards (usually they would've passed 3 by now, at least) but then he remembered that Antigone was not the paranoid psychopath that her mother had been. Picking up the pace a little, Sheogorath burst into the throne room, waving his staff like a… like… well, like a madman. "All right! I was told to hold court, but I've forgotten my gavel. Oh well!" Using his staff, Sheogorath smacked the nearest pillar, causing it to crack and crumble. Haskill sighed, placed a hand on the pillar, and it slowly reformed, grinding back into place and sealing itself. Sheogorath glared at him before turning to survey the room.

The court of Dementia was the same as ever, with its cold stone pillars, blue rugs, spiky rock sculptures, and twisted trees growing out of ill-kept gardens. The one difference was that there was nobody in the court, save a small group of people standing before the throne. Now this was odd. Usually, the Ruler of Dementia required all of her vassals to remain in sight during the day. If she could see them, they weren't plotting to kill her. Even Antigone kept this rule in place, though she'd never admit that it was for the same reason as her late mother. Feeling a little awkward standing in an empty throne room, Sheogorath walked forward and smacked his staff against the nearest object, the Fount of Dementia. The water from the fountain splattered over his Mazken guard, and started to glow an odd orangish color. "Oops, sorry Mika" the Prince of Madness said sheepishly. "You'll be okay… maybe." Mika, his Dark Seducer guard, seemed not to notice the water, and at his words, saluted and gave him a small smile. Turning back towards the group of people, Sheogorath promised that he would check on his loyal servant personally later, once the present madness, or, unordinary madness, was dealt with.

"Now then, if I haven't got your attention from all that ruckus, then you're either daft, or deaf…t." Sighing at his lack of wit, Sheogorath tapped the tip of his staff twice on the hard stone floor. But that wasn't required, because the three people in front of the throne had been watching his party upon their entry to the court. On the left, Sheogorath recognized the Breton girl who was the female vassal of Dementia. He forgot her name at the moment, however. On the right, he remembered the Redguard who was Antigone's most trusted vassal, but he also forgot the man's name. And of course, in the middle, there was Syl's only daughter, Antigone. Antigone herself was taller than Sheogorath, though still a little too short for the common height of a High Elf. Her hair was black, and was tied into a combination-ponytail-and-straight-hair style, with it falling to her waist. Her eyes were an odd red color, and this made the glare she was throwing him all the more sinister. She was wearing an odd red dress, nothing at all like the frilly thing the girl on her left was wearing. It was straight, tight-fitting, and seemed easy to move in. This theory was supported by the short-sword at her waist, the kind you used after dodging an enemy strike. Antigone was sitting cross-legged on her throne, and, as stated previously, was glaring with apparent hatred at Sheogorath. "Antigone," the Daedric lord greeted her, bowing mockingly as he did so.

"Sheogorath…" Antigone replied, her voice sounding disinterested, as though his being there wasn't her doing.

"So tell me," the Prince of Madness began, eager to get this over with and get back to his ear-stew, "Why have you, my vassal, called me here, to my throne of Dementia, to make demands of me, Lord Sheogorath?!"

"Bold claims, for a **mortal**!" Antigone hissed.

Sheogorath, and Haskill both stepped back as if stung. Antigone's vassals cowered behind her, doing their best to deflect any blame that may fall upon them if Sheogorath became angry. Mika growled and stepped toward Antigone, furious that any apparent insult had been made to her lord. "H-how dare you question your Lord's immortality?! What base do you have for this ridiculous accusation?!" Inside, Sheogorath was scrambling. So far, no one made any differentiation between himself and the previous daedric lord. Haskill seemed to be the only one who knew that the change had been made, and he was perfectly happy to call the current ruler by the title of the Prince of Madness.

Yeah it's short. Sorry. But, more will come later! I promise!

Review!


	3. Chapter 3

Wow, hey, so yeah, I forgot. Okay, it's been about a year guys (or girls, if I'm that lucky) and I know I've let you all down. Still, I'll try and do better! I wrote long and hard for the last few days to put this up, I'm hoping you'll forgive me! I like it, I hope you do to. I'll respond to your reviews, if you're still listening XP

Review Responses: Masked Painter-Thanks, I'm trying my best. If it's not too much to ask, some critiques are helpful! =)

Soike-Yeah, less goblins are always a good idea =) I'm hoping to answer your questions with this chapter! XP

Heart of Lies-I appreciate your compliment, I intend to write more. No, srs, this story hasn't ever left the back burner while I've been on hiatus, I've always been musing over it, as odd as that sounds.

Incidentally, a grackle is a real bird. Sylvia Plath used them in her poetry, so I thought it fitting to use them here! =). I'm guessing of the few that read this, half are laughing with me, and half are googling Sylvia Plath?

If you have trouble picturing one, think of a weird cross between a bat, and an aperyx, with nooooo fur at all. Like a pterodactyl or something.

Okay guys! Back to work!

Antigone's courtesan's fled the room, leaving just the Mazken guard at Sheogorath's side, Haskill, and the two leaders of Maddness. Sheogorath spluttered, waving his stick around, smacking it into another column, which Haskill promptly repaired. "Antigone-" "I-" "You-" he started and stopped, searching for words to convey his emotions. First and foremost, he was surprised. How on earth had she discovered this information? Did she know where he hailed from? Had Haskill told her? What was to become of him if his secret remained out? After pondering this for a few seconds, his shoulders sagged, and he looked her square in the face. May as well face the issue. Isn't that what his father had taught him? Or his cousin? No, maybe it had been that"Yes, I was a mortal. Once. Now, I am Sheogorath, your Lord! Speak your demands or leave my presence!" he said. Technically, since he was in the court of Dementia, he couldn't tell her to do that; she _was technically his equal here. But, then, he was also a daedric lord with a wicked staff and a scaly tail, with pretty awesome clothes to boot. And he had powerful spells no mere mortal could wield, but that's beside the point. _

"_Sheogorath… my lord…" she said, and the accusation seemed to flow out of her. What was left was a sparking curiosity, and a bit of unfamiliarity. "My lord… I do not doubt that you are Sheogorath," she told him. "My lord, if you are a mortal, this throws the land into infinite turmoil," he told her. "My frustration at the thought cemented into rage momentarily when I imagined our world submerged in more fighting," he told her. "I feared that, when you died, there would be no one left to defend us." She stepped forward and rested the point of her weapon on the ground and leaned on it, looking into Sheogorath's face. "My lord, we must rectify this," she told him. _

_Sheogorath rolled his eyes, tapping his stick into the floor, then leaning on it to look at her eye to eye. "Woman, what do you think I've been doing? Making sandwiches? No! That' Aureal's work! And my tail is long and thick!" he declared, flicking his twitching appendage at her to prove his point. "Now then, here's what Haskill has dug up so far; At the beginning of every age, all of the daedric lords are called together to… well, it's supposed to be about reviewing," he said. "But, you know, they don't get to that. It's mostly Sanguine and I chatting it up, and everyone else ignores us while we… what's the word… fill them with custard? No… anyways, nothing gets done," he said. "But Haskill is going to accompany me, to see if there's a way to ensure my immortality," he said. _

_Antigone had been nodding patiently. "Very well, my lord. Shall I inform Mind-Bender?" she asked. _

"_If you wish it so, I think he'll be happy to know," Sheogorath said. "Now then, Antigone, there is an urgent matter you must attend to," he said, raising himself back up to his full height and attempting to appear imperial, even though his tail itched(!). "Cylarne is technically part of Mania. However, your Mazken took control of the territory, and it's turning into a swamp!" he declared. "I don't mean to pick at things, unless it's someone's nose, because then it could be their brain," he said, tapping her skull with his staff's point," but I don't want a war on my hands, not now. Settle something with Mind-Bender and the Aureal's, and soon, please," he said. Antigone, nodded, not speaking. "And for My sake, clean up the mess you made! Withdraw your guards, and your complaints!" he declared. _

"_Yes, My lord Sheogorath," she said, with the same level of deference she used before this whole mess had started. _

_Sheogorath sighed. People tended to overreact to such things as the death of their liege, or the possible future turmoil of the whole kingdom. He shook his head and left the court of Dementia, chuckling as the courtesans furtively made their way back into the main chamber. Haskill, in his manner of saying everything without a single word, stared at his leader with a mildly curious look on his face. Sheogorath sighed and nodded. There would be explanations come later._

"_Now then, since we've already paid a visit to Antigone, we should go and see our good friend Mind-Bender!" Sheogorath declared. "That, or we could go watch the dancer back in the main hall. Ooo, or we could play with the new grackles in the aviary!" the prince said, turning away from his path, back towards the white tower of his castle._

_Soon enough, the duo (Haskill decided to leave the party, something to do with a gnarl outbreak) had reached the aviary. Mika, the Mazken guard, rushed to open the door, the skin on her outstretched arm still glowing an odd orange color that bothered Sheogorath. "Mika, again, I'd like to-"_

"_My Lord Sheogorath, the skin does not bother me, please don't let it bother you. I am your most loyal servant," she told him, again with a small impish smile. Odd for Mazken, he thought. Nodding in agreement that the issue would be dropped, Sheogorath stepped into the aviary after his guard had looked through the door, satisfying herself that no one was about to disembowel him to death. _

"_Grackles!" he called to the large birds sitting in his castle. Well, 'bird' was a loose term. They more closely resembled bats, or a gargoyle. Maybe a description would help. The grackles were very large, easily twice the size of your average dwarf, maybe rivaling a smallish dragon-type-thing. Anyways, they had dark, leathery skin that appeared stretched taught over their skeletons. Their heads resembled the old bones he had seen in the Bone Garden, of the giant monsters that used to roam the land before it had been settled. Haskill had said something about an apteryx, but he had been talking during Sheogorath's 'nap while Haskill talks' time, so the thought hadn't stuck. Well, they had a round dome for their head, but it was thick, probably because they butted heads for supremacy often. And their beaks were very long and pointy, though they rarely used them for stabbing each other. Again, Haskill had said something about their blood being acidic, but again Sheogorath had been ignoring him. Their wings were like the wings of bats, stretched like elastic leather between their arms and feet. Their midsection was thin, and their ribs clearly showed, as did their… well, let's just say they had everything necessary to reproduce. On their hands and legs Sheogorath could see long, nasty looking claws that were more for gripping than tearing or rending. _

_Aaaanyways, Sheogorath's call had alerted the large animals to his presence, and they all sounded a rather epic-souding call of affection, or was it loathing? He could never tell if they genuinely liked him, or if they wanted him for dinner. The aviary was quite large, and so it housed close to thirty of the beasts. The odd man who knew too much about the past and future events told him that, the grackles had returned only once before in the history of the Isles, and that was to mourn the passing of the original land after the Greymarch. The fact that they had returned means that the cycle had truly been broken, or so the man had said. He wasn't sure why they had returned now, or where they had been, but he knew that, given time, they would be here to stay. Sheogorath was pretty sure that was a good thing, since they liked to munch on some of the more annoying creatures he knew of in the isles, (grummites came to mind) and they also seemed very friendly (again, assuming here) with people. In the wild (there were hundreds more in the wild, mostly hunkered down in the swamps near the Mad King's Boot) they gravitated more towards settlements, even ruined ones (Vitharne, for instance). _

"_Hello pretties," he said, raising his hands and stepping toward them. Their screeches rang out, and a larger one, definitely male, drifted down to meet him. Sheogorath reached up and stroked the neck of the creature. The odd man who knew things, Dyus! That was his name, Dyus! Dyus told him that these creatures liked a specific human each, he called it 'imprinting'. This one had taken a liking to him, he was sure of it. The Daedric prince looked over at Mika, who was starting at the large beast with some disdain, probably she was worried about him. Sheogorath reached up and patted the beast, then turned away and smiled at the Mazken. "Mika, let's take our leave for now. We need to keep things running, don't we?" he asked her, stepping away from the offending grackle. _

_The mazken nodded and stepped forward, saluting. Sheogorath winced at the orange coloring of her skin._

_Okay Gang! I feel like it should stop here! But! I will! Have a new chapter out for Spring Break! Which is starting this week! Yay! I'm already working on it! =) Review Review Review!_


	4. Chapter 4

Hey guys! Trying to keep my promise here! I tell you, the road to Chicago is full of potholes, so if there's a typo or seven try not to let it bother you tooooooo too =)

Okay, since I know my last chapter was all rambly wtfrudoin?! I decided that this chapter needs to be more… well, more involved with the story. Rest assured, Mika does have significance, and so does the neat stuff on her skin! But that's not till later.

Back to work! The awesome duo of Sheogorath and Mika were just stepping through the doors to the main hall, entering the throne room of Sheogorath. Incidentally, Sheogorath himself remembered that he had stuck his Wabberjack staff to nail anyone who came through the main doorway. So, he pulled Mika quickly out of the way of an angry looking bolt of energy, that traveled out the open door and nailed a passing bird, Wabberjacking it into a Elytra Noble, who then sailed into Bliss, to the surprised shouts of the residents. Sheogorath chuckled and closed the door, stepping into his throne room. "Haskill!" he called. "Haskill, there's a bug problem in Bliss!"

Instantly, Haskill appeared at his side, a rather bored look on his face. "Yes, sir?" he asked.

"Haskill!" the daedra lord exclaimed. "I was not expecting you! Well, since you're here, we've work to accomplish!" Haskill nodded and followed him up the stairs, where the prince returned to his throne with a relieved sigh. "That was an adventure!" Mika took her place at his right side, while the Aureal guard on his left stared, then snickered at the color of her skin, until silenced by a glare from her Lord. "Now then Haskill!" Sheogorath said, leaning forward to look at the chamberlain. "I understand you wish explanation for my actions. How can I help you?" he asked.

"Firstly, my Lord, I'd like you to explain what occurred with Antigone once again," he said.

"Well, best as I can see it, she learned of my mortality," the prince responded, pointing to the guards of his throne, then to the rooms surrounding the throne. They both hastily left to check for eavesdroppers. "And when she discovered this, she grew quite paranoid. She worried if the Heretics were right, and that I was going to die and throw the whole place into chaos where the Greymarch failed. However, once I did my best to assuage her fears to the contrary, that I was searching hard for a solution, she calmed down quickly, and withdrew any threats. I think she realizes the best possible solution isn't to oppose the mortal on the throne, but to aid him in his endeavors to make his rule more permanent," he said, leaning back in his throne and cracking his knuckles, making Haskill wince. "I don't blame her for overreacting, worse things have happened to my past self and I've gone crazy," the prince added, chuckling. "I'm crazy! Look at me now! I'm the prince of Maddness!" he said, leaning back in his chair and cackling loudly.

Haskill waited patiently for his Lord to cease in his rapacious laughter. When the fit had subsided, Haskill calmly asked his next question. "My Lord, was it wise not to question the Duchess about her knowledge of your mortality?" he asked, watching as the guards returned from their uneventful search for on-lookers. Even he stared slightly at Mika's orange skin, and another pang of guilt hit the prince.

The Prince swore to look into the matter personally, despite Mika's objection's. But he returned his thoughts to the question at hand. "Yes, Haskill, I believe it was. Antigone needs her sources kept secret for her own 'sanity', he said, rubbing his scaly chin in thought. "Granted, if I had asked, and pressed, she would've had no choice but to tell me. Then **I'd** have had no choice but to pursue the culprit with all my power, and demand to know where **he** got the information. I've had no problem with the heretics calling me mortal until now, so how would it look to people if I started chasing every rumor of me being a mortal? And Antigone's other sources would go underground for sure, when they see what serving her looks like, then we'd have another Syl on our hands. And surely the culprit's sources would also go underground, and I'd waste valuable preparation time searching for them that I otherwise could've used to prove them WRONG in the near future," he said shaking his head to clear it from all this convoluted nonsense.

Haskill was staring strangely at his Lord. "My Lord, that is… that is very wise of you. Truly, I did not think that this temperance was within your capabilities as the prince of Maddness," he said, almost laughing.

Sheogorath did laugh, and it wasn't pleasant this time. "Oh Haskill, I have no intention of allowing these men to live, they're greater threats to me than any Heretic, that's for certain! They're already within the walls of the castle, and have contact with one of my Lords!" he said, after he had finished. "I intend to find them once this crisis is ended and punish them severely, no matter what it takes!" he declared. "But the matter will wait until I am no longer mortal," the prince said, falling back into his throne with a sigh. "When that happens, I'll find these men and demand answers, even to questions they won't know! Oh, what fun!" he said, rubbing his hands together.

"Now then, before I change my min- Oh! Wabberjack!" he declared, picking up his second favorite staff and tossing it towards the doors leading to the Palace courtyard. It hit them squarely and went off, nailing an invisible person square in the back as h tried to flee, assumedly with information for his masters. The offender _popped_, then shifted into a duck. "A witch!" he declared. "Question him, then burn him as such!"

Mika stood and jogged to the duck, which was still trying to escape. She hefted the animal and disappeared, taking the Wabberjack staff with her. "Herdir!" she called, searching for the realm's foremost 'questioner'.

Sheogorath chuckled, than clucked his tongue at the Aureal guard. "He was on **your** side of the room, you know," he said, grinning innocently at her. The guard stiffened, stood up straight, and looked straight ahead. "My Lord, I am not worthy to serve!" she exclaimed. "I accept any punishment for my gross error in this most important of assignments,"

The daedric prince laughed again, heartily this time. "Just learn from your mistakes, and you'll do fine. Don't let a simple Mazken out-do a proud Aureal!" he said, raising his staff and knocking her on the head. At the word Mazken, the Holy Saint stiffened again, and looked a combination of upset and frustration. Or maybe she was hungry. Did Aureals even eat? When he tapped her head with the staff, she glared at him, then remembered who it was that she was being knocked-on-the-head by, and looked away quickly. "Thank you my lord, I am most grateful."

Sheogorath laughed again and turned back to a bewildered Haskill, who was still looking at the spot where the evil-doer had been Wabberjack-ed "My-my Lord, how…?"

"Oh Haskill, I had no idea! I just to throw my stick around!" the prince answered, shrugging. "NOW THEN! Before anything else happens. Haskill. We need to prepare for the meeting of the Daedric Princes," he said. "I have a few things in mind, but I'd like your input as well," the prince admitted. "First thing I can think of is getting our house in Order. Order is gone, back to wherever Jyggalag's Daedric realm is. Xedilian and the Gate-Keeper will take care of unwanted guests, and the Mazken and Aureals will keep order. However, there are a few things I noticed could be better. Most of the food we eat is plants or Grummite eggs. I'm all for cannibalism, but I'd like a ready source of meat for my people," he said. Haskill nodded, agreeing; his proposal was sensible. "So I propose we organize a Hunting guild. This solves the problem of smaller-woodland creatures, such as Elytra or Scalon, and gives us tasty meat!" he said, clapping his hands together. "And they can keep a lookout for Madness ore or Amber, for those two nifty smiths who like to fiddle with that sort of thing!. I rather like the armor they create, and I feel it could be used for chaotic purposes," he said, motioning to his wall, where full sets of Amber and Madness armor were hanging suspended from racks, each on their respective side of the room.

Haskill nodded. "Yes, my Lord, this seems an excellent proposal. Who shall I put in charge of this endeavor?" the chamberlain asked.

"I'll let you figure that out, Haskill. I don't pick people, unless it's for human-berry pie! Then I like the plump ones!" he said, mouth watering. "But I would like to suggest a certain Orc in Deepwallow, he has a particular affinity for Scalon-hunting."

"My lord, is there something else?" Haskill asked, distracting the prince from returning to his images of pie.

"Yes, there was Haskill. I wanted pie, but you make me work again! How could you?!" the prince demanded. "Still, I had another idea. It occurred to me that all knowledge of the past comes from Dyus, and I don't like that, or him, one bit! Why don't we organize a Ruins Guild, that can go spelunking into those dark places, and look for treasure and signs of past civilization. It clears out the undead, and it gives us a better understanding of the past that doesn't come from that evil man," he said. "And put Dyus in charge of it! As long as I'm keeping him around, he may as well be put to work!"

Haskill clasped his hands together and nodded. "Yes my lord, an expedition for Knifepoint Hollow will be created immediately," the chamberlain told him.

Sheogorath shifted in his chair and sighed. "For the Prince of Madness, I'm making things pretty organized," he said. Then he shrugged. "It's my realm, I do what I want!" he exclaimed. With a wave of his staff, the sky split and sundered with a bolt of lightning, and a heavy rain began pouring down into the Isles. "Much better," he said, sighing in relief. "Now then Haskill, what are your ideas? How can I prepare for the meeting of Daedric Princes?

"Well my lord, first you can start calling it by its true name: the Etanes. And I believe I have found a way for you to attend: given that you don't hold the status of Daedric Prince. As you know, Cylarne, Brellach, and Pinnacle Rock are all the oldest ruins in all of the Isles. And, as you also know, Brellach and Pinnacle Rock are home to the Wellsprings, where your Daedric armies replenish their fallen members. It has recently come to my attention that Cylarne, in addition to housing the Flame of Agnon, has another purpose. It alone is the surviving outpost of both your Daedric servants, until recently. And it alone is the oldest ruin on the Isles, suggesting it predates even the underground Root-Tunnel Network. My Lord, I feel that Cylarne is home to the Wellspring of the Shivering Isles," Haskill finished, a sort of reverence in his voice.

Sheogorath stared, slightly surprised. Haskill was never one to _believe _things true, he was one for facts. Even he had admitted to not knowing how to stop the Greymarch beyond making the staff, and had referred him to that annoying man Dyus. "Haskill, if you're right, and you usually are, then this could be my ticket to the Etanes. However, even if we could find the Wellspring of the Shivering Isles, which legions of Aureals and Mazken have failed to do, then how would we reverse the process of rebirth, to get me into the Daedric Essence Stream and the meeting itself?"

Haskill shook his head. "This I do not know, and I doubt Dyus would aid you either- he's merely a man sustained by the whim of Daedra, like myself. We do not return to the Daedric Essence Stream when we die, we are merely reincarnated elsewhere in a new body, a rather instantaneous process. The Aureals and Mazken are too secretive to be of much help, and even they would not know how to **navigate the stream beyond reforming their body at their respective springs. I believe that there is only one option. At the center of the Root-Tunnel Network, beyond the Grummite cults and the Gnarl, lies a chamber sealed tight by frozen amber and a thick bark shell, lies the Heart. The Heart is the lifeblood behind the Root-Tunnel Network, the hive-leader of the Gnarls, and is the subject of worship for the Grummites. It bids the Isles grow and change by way of the Roots themselves, and without it the Realm itself would die," he said. "Granted, without you the Realm would still die, but here is more of a physical sense, where you're more of an all-encompassing cataclysmic sense," Haskill explained to a curious Sheogorath. "Still, it's a living, breathing part of this Realm, and if it pays attention, it may be able to tell you how to navigate the Essense stream," Haskill said, his features lifting slightly. **

"**Haskill, this sounds like it's exactly what I need!" Sheogorath exclaimed. "The only problem; how the heck am I supposed to get through frozen amber and tree bark that a Daedric Firesword won't pierce?!"**

**Maybe I can squeeze out oooone more story, depending on whether or not I get help from you, the readers! Review like a boss! **


	5. Chapter 5

Hey bros (and maybe a she-bro if I could be so lucky) I think I've broken a record for the most chapters updated within a short time-span =3 I have to tell you, this story I think has been taking a good shape, but there hasn't been enough violence. We need action! Sheogorath needs to show he's in charge of his Realm! Well rest assured, the time has come! We're going spelunking deeeeeeep into the Root-Tunnel Network, and we shall have violence! Wharrgharble! First, I want to respond to my first review for the last 2 chapters I updated.

Trojan Knight: Yeah, I always figured that watching Cyrodil self-implode was a good story in it of itself-but that, when the next Elder Scrolls game came out, we would see just how wrong I was. I don't like making stories that will eventually be disproven!!! Y-Y So, I thought I'd just stay with Sheogorath, who's ending left much to be desired.

Now then, a bit of an explanation. I know that once you become Sheogorath, you gain certain abilities (such as weather control and returning to the castle on death) that seem to suggest you have become tied to the Realm itself. This is very true, you are tided to it. However. Your body is still a mortal body, you can still die, correct? You age. You do not return to the Essense Stream upon your demise. Assumedly, your death would doom the Realm in the way Jyggalag could not. This is what Sheogorath and Haskill mean to rectify; they want to make your mortal character (or rather, mine) able to navigate the Essence Stream to the Etanes, where he can make a claim for prince-hood of the Isles. To be sure, it will not be that easy, but it's the basic plan! I hope that clears up questions you could have, and I hope you continue reading my story! =D

Back to Work!

Sheogorath sighed. He remembered the Deep Tunnels; their sweet aroma drawing in an unsuspecting traveler, only to snare him with sharpened roots or a Gnarl. He remembered the screeches of the warring Grummite tribes that thrived beneath the surface. Their idols may look the same, but that didn't stop them from tearing each other to pieces. And he remembered the scraping, clicking, and squeaks of the Elytra nesting there as well. The creatures all fought each other, seeking dominance of the tunnels and their space for breeding, or for the Gnarls, their work-space. The prince remembered that, at one point, the Grummites had united for a few days to drive back an explosion of Elytra, only to be fractured again when a group of Gnarl had wiped out the leading shaman. If Haskill had told him correctly, the Grummites had firm control of the Deep Tunnels themselves, and had a few camps in the Deep Tunnels Lower Caverns. The Elytra were dominant there, however, and the Lower Caverns were the site of many wars that had gone unsung. Beneath the Lower Caverns were the Deep Tunnels Underdeep, miles upon miles of unexplored caverns and roots-tunnels, populated soley by the Gnarl.

It was here that the Heart, the living, breathing core of the Isles, was master. Haskill said that the Heart was somewhere in the center, but that the center was not guaranteed to be close to the entrance from the Lower Caverns. Haskill said that the Underdeep extended far beyond the landmass of the Isles, and that it could be many months time before Sheogorath actually found the Heart. But he had to try. The Heart was the Isles' only chance at stability in the long term, this Haskill and Sheogorath knew. And so, here was the Mad Prince, never more deserving of his title, standing at the entrance to the Deep Tunnels Lower Caverns. Behind him were strewn the remains of the Grummite tribes, and before him a long, dark tunnel that was filled with the now-intoxicating aroma. Beside him was Mika, his faithful Mazken guard, with her mace raised and covered in blood. "Are you ready Mika?" he asked.

"Your most humble servant, my lord," the guard answered, nodding and smiling her favorite smile. The orange on her skin was lessening, something the prince was glad to see. It was still very prevalent on her right hand, though everywhere else it was slowly disappearing, like a drop of water being dried by the air.

Sheogorath nodded and stretched. He was still wearing his favorite suit, and toting his signature staff on his back. But in his hand was Dawnfang Superior, already sated by the blood of the Grummites. His hand burned a little; summoning Xivilai over and over was tough work. But, the rewards outweighed the costs; the Grummites were fried with lightning spells. The prince mused over the thought of fried Grummite for lunch, then dismissed it. He didn't like to munch on things that already munched on each other. Sheathing his sword, the prince stepped across the threshold into the waiting tunnels, hoping he was prepared for whatever lay ahead.

Almost immediately upon entering the Lower Caverns, Sheogorath regretted ever coming here. The light went from dim to nonexistent, and the aroma that permeated this root system was much thicker here than up above. Still, he and his faithful guard pushed on, the prince casting night-eye spells with his staff. The pair continued through the tunnels, exploring every nook and cranny for a way further in, but finding none. Already, these tunnels were exponentially more complex than the upper levels, and they probably extended well out past the isles as well. But they were no under deep; they could be explored, given time and patience. And tasty meat.

The daring daedric duo encountered many enemies in the Lower Caverns. In one instance, they came across a cavernous opening about the size of New Sheoth's palace grounds. Arrayed throughout the cavern were struggling knots of Elytra and Grummits from two separate tribes, if he read their colors correctly. Sheogorath sighed, then waded into the fight, sinking his blade into Grummite and Elytra alike. Behind him, Mika guarded his back, crushing the skulls of whomever dared to attack her lord. Raising his right hand and chanting softly, the prince summoned his favorite Xivilai. Wielding a clawed hand, the towering daedra swiped at whoever was close enough, before stepping back and rapidly frying the offending enemies with lightning.

At one point in the fighting, a large Elytra appeared. Swiping its scythe-like apendages sideways, it flung Mika away from Sheogorath, into a knot of Grummites. Startled, to say the least, Sheogorath impaled an unfortunate shaman, then turned to face the new threat. "You are an ugly Elytra, you know that?1" he taunted, stepping forward and lashing out with Duskfang Superior (the blade had changed mid-battle). The large, ugly bug blocked his blows with apparent ease, then struck at the Mad Prince with its stinger. Sheogorath managed to dodge the blow, much to the dismay of the Grummite behind him, who received a healthy dose lethal ichor. Before the creature could pull its stinger back, the prince swung downward with his blade, chopping off about half of its abdomen. The bug swayed, then retreated a few steps and raised its scythes menacingly. The prince yawned and stepped forward, then leapt up and onto its back. Quickly grasping its antennae, he pulled hard. The startled creature gave a screech of pain and bewilderment, lashing wildly with its arms, cutting through Grummite and Elytra easily as it rampaged through the cavern. In an attempt to direct the creature's rage, Sheogorath pulled hard to the left. In response, the creature reflexively swept its scythes to the right, cutting through the knot of Grummites that stood over a defenseless Mika. Oddly enough, they had been the last living creatures in the cavern other than the three combatants and the unfortunate Elytra. "Xivilai!" called the Mad Prince, pulling hard on the Elytra's antennae. The bug reared up, baring its chest to a lightning bolt that fried its heart. Stepping off the collapsing foe, Sheogorath thanked and dismissed the Xivilai and hurried over to Mika.

Mika was suffering from two ragged gashes on her side, one cutting across her stomach, the other ripping through the skin below her breasts, maybe injuring her lungs. "M-my lord," she gasped, clearly laboring to breathe. Sheogorath brought his staff over her and started whispering softly, applying healing magic to the area. Strange, then, that the wounds seemed to draw the orange from her right hand to it like a magnet. The orange poured from her wounds like a liquid, and seemed to heal them from the inside while his healing magic worked from without. Soon enough, two dark orange scars were all that remained of the terrible wounds. The Mad Prince lifted up his guard, supporting her weight on his shoulders.

"Mika? Mika, are you all right?" he asked, staring into her eyes, which still looked dazed.

"My Lord, I am unhurt. Please, let us continue," she said.

"Mika, you can barely stand. We'll rest here for the night; Duskfang Superior formed about two hours ago, we can rest," he told her, setting her carefully against one side of the cavern., having moved while they spoke. "Mika, just rest for now. I'll find dinner and make camp," he told her. He waved his fingers and summoned a Clannfear, knowing it would shriek loudly if in any danger. "Watch her," Sheogorath commanded, before turning and leaving. Looking back, Sheogorath noted two things. One, Mika had resigned herself to rest and was getting comfortable near the watchful Clannfear. The other thing he noted, and this gave him much more worry, was that, despite the orange… humor, he'd call it a humor for now, despite the orange humor that had moved to apparently seal her wounds, the amount on her right arm hadn't changed at all. Did that mean it was growing? Feeling increasingly guilty for ever having splashed his servant, Sheogorath turned back around and continued through the caverns.

After having pierced the skull of the eighteenth Grummite in his way, the tunnel he was in became eerily silent. Shuddering at the feeling, Sheogorath harrumphed and started singing his favorite song;

They're Coming to Take me Away

Haha

They're Coming to Take me Away

Haha

To the Funny farm

Where life Is beautiful All the Time

And I'll be Happy to See

Those nice Young men

And their Clean white Coats

And they're Coming to Take me Away

Haha!

And suddenly the Mad Prince had found his goal! There it was, liquid amber! He scooped up the golden treasure into an air-tight flask, sealed the lid, and turned back, cackling. He was almost back to his charge before he heard the Clannfear's screech. Cursing, he sprinted back to their campsite. Gnarls! Crap. Three of the large trees had surrounded the valiant daedra, which was doing its best to shield Mika. Charging the nearest opponent, Sheogorath unleashed a lightning spell, causing the Gnarl to grow and become immune to that element. Immidiately following his spell, however, was Duskfang Superior, chopping half-way through the plant's midsection. The Gnarl, susceptible to frost damage in exchange for increased defense against lightning, shuddered and collapsed, slowly freezing over. Slowly, too slowly, the other Gnarl were turning to take stock of their new opponent. However, the nearer Gnarl should've been far more worried about the sword in its head, or the follow up lightning blast that fried it. And the final tree was far more occupied with a clannfear-shaped object piercing its head with a beak, and toppled over.

Panting, Sheogorath patted the beasts nose before releasing it, promising rest. He sighed and lay back against the root wall. He looked over at Mika, who appeared to have slept through the whole exchange. "Gnarls here means… means we're close to the Underdeep," he gasped, more to himself. "It's not back the way we came, and it wasn't in that last tunnel. So that leaves…" Looking around, Sheogorath only spotted one other tunnel leading out of the cavern they were in. "Looks like we have a direction," he said, rolling over and attempting to get sleep. His staff he planted in the ground before them, it would let him know if anything decided to munch on two sleeping travelers.

Over the next few days Sheogorath and Mika made their way down a long, straight, sloped pathway, which had begun from that tunnel the three Gnarls had originated from. And there were plenty more where they had come from, which explained the amount of time it took to travel the length of the tunnel At one point, they had been surrounded by Gnarl, even though the prince was sure none had snuck past him and that there had been no other tunnels leading to this one. Even so, th daring duo had been forced to fight their way through countless tree-things. Mika had woken up feeling refreshed, much to Sheogorath's relief. Finally, after four days of trudging, hacking, casting, cursing, and fleeing, the pair had made it to the end of the Gauntlet, as Sheogorath had come to know it. They were now, officially, in the Deep Tunnels Underdeep.

Of all the places Sheogorath had ventured, he was sure that the Underdeep was one of the worst. Pools of molten Amber lined the tunnels, there were no light sources at all, and every few feet was a Gnarl or trap waiting to maim you. The Pervasive aroma took on a new level, as it started to block the oxygen, make it harder for him to breathe. And even what Haskill had warned him of had not prepared him for the complexity of the task before him; the roots could shift. What was at one time a perfectly open tunnel, in a few hours had changed to an impassable barrier, filled with other roots that housed other tunnels to other places. Imagine trying to solve a puzzel with another person removing the pieces as you set them in place. Sheogorath had spent the first few days trying to get the lay of their section of the tunnels, only to discover his map as useless scribbles. Mika had suggested they press onward and hope luck was on their side, but that was about as likely to work as a map. No, he had said, they needed a plan of action before moving on.

But there was a silver lining,. Haskill had uncovered a short effigy of a famed explorer who had died trying to map these same tunnels. It went as follows: "I followed my Heart, she took my breath away." Incidentally, the man had suffocated. The Mad Prince was sure that the effigy had something to do with the Heart that lay in these tunnels, though he wasn't so sure about the next part of the passage; the man had written it on his skin, in his own blood. As a last ditch effort, both of the party had spells that returned them to the palace on their death, so if all else failed, they would not remain lost in the Underdeep.

On the fifth day after leaving the Gauntlet, Sheogorath stood and shouted, freaking out Mika, who had been roasting some Gnarl Bark. "Of course! He couldn't breathe! He suffocated!" Sheogorath said, pacing. "If the scent in the air became so thick that he suffocated before finding the Heart, then that must be the source!" he declared, now certain of their path. Summoning a Skinned Hound, the group finally broke camp and trekked out into the shifting root system. Always, the Skinned Hound was ahead, following the scented air where it was strongest, back to its source. Always, there was a trap or Gnarl in their path that had to be dealt with. Always, the roots would shift to block the best path, or shift to trap them midway through the tunnel, forcing them to double back and try again. These delays cost them weeks, but they made progress. Sheogorath did not have the nose of a Kahjit or a Skinned hound, but he noticed a heaviness in the air, the increased mobility of the roots before and behind him, and an increase in the traps and Gnarl that stood in their way;

On several occasions the air grew too heavy for torches, so the group had to rely more and more on the Skinned Hound's nose, and Sheogorath's night eye spells to navigate the tunnels. Food dried up, except for Gnarl bark, in which there was plenty. Sheogorath came to enjoy it roasted, dipped in a bit of amber for the flavor and protein. Their water began to run dangerously low, so much so that, if not for ice-spells and Duskfang Superior, they would've to turn back long ago. As it was, they were running out of Varla stones to power Sheogorath's sword and staff, and he was now relying on soul gems he'd been filling since the start. Mika's mace was badly damaged, its base only half-attached to the top any longer. Dawnfang Superior's blade was chipped and pitted. If they didn't reach the end within the next few days, the Mad Prince wasn't sure he could continue. And if that happened, he wasn't sure he could bear another attempt at this.

About a day or so before the strain forced them to turn back, the Skinned Hound died. Startled, Sheogorath had remembered that they had stopped using torches altogether about a week ago, and just this morning the hound he had summoned had been already panting and whining. Sure enough, an examination revealed that the hound had suffocated. Sighing and releasing the spell, Sheogorath stood to notice something else. The tunnels had stopped moving. Trying not to get too excited, the Mad Prince instructed Mika to stop breathing and to follow him. Whatever it was that was in the air, his gills could give him oxygen from it, so there was no reason for him to stop breathing as well, besides the fact that if he did, he would die. With cautious optimism, the prince stepped around a bend and stopped, stunned at what he was seeing.


	6. Chapter 6

Hey bros and chick bros. My spring break is coming to an end soon, but I'm on fire and don't want to stop updating! It's like, I finally haz the motivation to keep this train a-movin. That, and I want to skip the homework, and my parents think I'm writing a paper =D Well, there's a bit of house cleaning to do today ladies and non-ladies. I have another review to respond to. Woo!

Something to clear up: Daedra do not sleep. Nope, they don't. They're immortal, and have no need for things like sleep. Now-a qualification. Last chapter, I said Mika fell asleep. Technically, this is not true. If you remember when you rescued your daedric army from Order (Brellach or Pinnacle Rock depending), you should remember when their wellspring was captured. They all went unconscious right? That's because they didn't have enough life-force from the wellspring to sustain themselves. This is what occurred with Mika. The wounds she suffered took a lot out of her. So she temporarily was k/o'ed as her life-force replenished itself. So I guess you could cal that sleep, but it's a lot less usual than, say, for Sheogorath.

One More thing. Name one when a daedra (not a prince) has expressed joy, and I will take it all back.

Review Response- MathieuTobias2345: Thanks bro. No, that's not what the orange is for, but it IS important. Very much so. And thanks, I feel the same way about really good stories. I hope I'm up to snuff with these next chapters!

Chris: Aw, thanks bro. Yeah, I have big plans for Mika, she's important.

Now then gents, let us return to the duty (lol) that god has given us. In other words, back to work!

The first thing Sheogorath noticed was light. His spell-enhanced eyes involuntarily shifted away from the brightened room, and he took a step back from the threshold and shielded them with one hand. "Ah, the light burns! Wait, what am I, Namira?!" Dispelling the… spell, the Mad Prince stepped forth into the brightly lit room. The source was a giant glowing cube, that was sitting on top of a raised tangle of roots, which seemed to plunge into the ground. Which was odd, considering the ground the roots were plunging into were roots themselves. And the cube seemed to be the source of these roots, which sprouted from its bottom like hair on a chin. Except much thicker and more wood-looking. And only if the chin was a glowing cube.

Anyways, the prince and his follower stared in awe for a minute, until a sound prompted them to turn away from the epic sight. The sound was babbling. Brook babbling. There was water near here! Glancing at one another, the duo split up and searched the large, spacious chamber for the precious liquid. "Over here, my Lord!" Mika called to him, waving him over with one hand. Next to her was a very large pool of water, being fed by a sizable waterfall. Not waiting for prompting, Sheogorath stripped off his suit, armor, pack, and equipment, diving naked into the pristine blue water. As an afterthought, the prince considered the possibility of a trap in the water, and hastily cast his preservation spell on the way to the bottom. Though there really wasn't a need. The only thing he was in danger of was wanting to stay in the pool for a day or two. The temperature was cool, a pleasing contrast to the humid root tunnels. And the feeling on his gills, wonderful! He carefully scraped a finger over the sensitive tissue, making sure no dirt or earth remained trapped there to block the flow of the water. Then he took a deep breath, and sighed as he felt the pristine water purify his airways of the noxious scent they had been following. Down here, at least, there was no danger of suffocation.

Looking up, the Mad Prince noticed a figure moving slowly through the water towards him. Swiftly making his way upwards, he recognized Mika, stripped of her equipment and clothing as he was. And she was grinning wildly. How odd it was, that he should be accompanied with the one Mazken with a sense of pleasure. Sheogorath grinned right back, swimming up to his partner and taking her hand. Together, they turned back and swam into the unknown, exploring the underwater room while their bodies rested from the ordeal that was behind them.

After swimming through several caves that contained underwater deposits of Amber, the two swimmers returned to the surface. Sighing in relief from their bath, Sheogorath tossed all the equipment that could stand a good rinse into the pool, letting it sink. It was as good an excuse as any for more swimming later. Then he slid back into the water and floated on the surface, breathing in the water through his gills and scenting the dry air. The smell in this room was somehow almost pleasant, it had lost its overpowering presence. He turned to the warm body next to him and smiled. "You can breathe in here, it's very nice."

Mika gave him another smile and took a breath, then gasped and took another. "It's like tasting your favorite dish again," she explained, wafting more of the air towards her like she would run out by taking in too much too quickly.

The Mad Prince laughed, then sighed noticed they were both naked. Immediately, an idea formed in his head. Nothing wrong with a bit of fun, is there? Of course not! Stop lying! "Mika, do you know about Mania's tendency for over-indulgence?" he asked her, turning his head to see her face.

"No my Lord," his servant responded, looking honestly curious. "What does this entail?"

The Mad Prince chuckled. "Generally it means we take something of great pleasure and continue partaking in this pleasure to the extreme. However, in your case, I assume anything of great pleasure would be considered over-indulgence."

"This is true, my Lord," Mika agreed. "Did you have something in mind?"

"Don't I always?" he responded, sitting up in the water and allowing the displacement to make him vertical. "How then, would you like to follow my lead?"

"I shall always follow, my Lord," Mika told him, sitting up with him.

"That's what I like to hear!" Sheogorath exclaimed, twining his arms around her and pulling her close to him, his strong legs keeping them afloat.

"Your humble servant as always, my Lord," Mika agreed, kissing his cheek and letting her hands roam over him.

Much later, Sheogorath mused over what had transpired. Presumably, they had reached the center of the Isles, the Heart, which was, as Haskill had told him, encased in Amber and roots. His Mazken guard appeared to be the only daedra who had feelings other than hatred for other daedra or hunger. Just to be sure he wasn't dreaming, he turned his head slightly. Sure enough, the weight he felt on his chest was indeed a sexy female Mazken, lost in thought and resting her head on his chest. They were still both very naked, though he didn't much mind at this point. Their equipment had been fetched, and was drying under the light of the cube-thing. Content, for the moment, the next order of business was to open the stupid Amber cube.

According to Haskill, the easiest way to get through solid Amber was liquid Amber. According to him, as long as you kept the liquid hot, it would continue to melt through the hardened solid. Of course, he wasn't sure where to start pouring the stupid thing, since he was fairly certain that the Heart would be upset by being burned with molten Amber. And looking up at the large cube, he wasn't even sure how to get up past the twisted roots to the cube itself. He could jump, sure, but then he couldn't get a hold of solid Amber.

Sighing, the prince stroked Mika's navy blue hair idly. To his pleasant surprise, she had secretly kept it long under her helmet, not the odd crew cuts that her superiors wore. He considered allowing her to wear it down in public, then decided he'd ask her about it. He was certain the Mazken had enjoyed the experience immensely, for more than just the mechanical service aspect of it. He was certain that, despite every other Mazken, Aureal, and other daedra he'd met, she was capable of expressing complex emotion. She turned and smiled at him, and he returned the smile with one of his own. He decided that, as long as there was clean water, there was no real rush to get through the barrier. He could subsist on water for months, so he was in no danger of starvation. Like the previous obstacles, as long as they were patient, the stupid cube could be solved.

Over the next weeks or so, the daring duo rested up. Clothing was washed and hung up do dry, but were not often worn; Mika had taken a liking to "over indulgence," as she put it. The pair also worked on an idea that Sheogorath had come up with during sleepy time: fire. A Flame Atronach could, in theory, burn handholds into the wood and climb up to the Amber cube itself. Then, creating an opening with the liquid Amber they already had, the daedra just had to remain close enough to the liquid to be sure it did its job. If the Mad Prince was lucky, the fire thing would eventually be able to stand up in the hole it created and simply walk forward until it got the the center. The rub was that, once the summoning commenced, the spell had to be kept alive until the Atronach's test was complete. Mika would've happily cast the spell, if daedra were allowed to summon other daedra. And the Mad Prince knew he would not be able to hold the spell for the time it took to melt through the cube. So, in compromise, Sheogorath would cast two spells at once. He would summon the Atronach, then immediately cast a drain on touch smell, and would draw as much energy as he needed from Mika. So long as he maintained his concentration, and nothing unexpected happened, they would be able to keep the Atronach summoned indefinitely.

"Are you ready, Mika?" the prince asked, flexing his fingers and stretching for the long bout of stationary monotony they were about to endure.

"Yes, my Lord," his Mazken responded, stretching as well.

The Mad Prince sighed one last time, then summoned his familiar. "Take this vial," he ordered the fiery daedra, "and climb up to that cube of Amber. Use the vial to create an opening, then use that to melt your way into the center," he told the creature.

The Atronach, acknowledging the commands, did as bid. Sure enough, its fire was hot enough to burn hand-holds into the bark. After reaching the underside of the Amber cube, the daedra smashed the vial roughly in the center of one side. The liquid immediately began to work, and some of the Amber cube began to ooze away from the hole the vial had created. The Atronach kept a hand in the middle of that ooze, and soon the hole began to widen. After by the time Dawnfang turned to Duskfang, the hole was roughly big enough for the daedra to crouch in.

Having put it off as long as he could, Sheogorath finally relented and cast the draining touch spell. Placing his hand on his faithful servant, the Mad Prince began to draw Mika's energy into himself. He wouldn't be completely refreshed by this method, he knew, but it would be enough to sustain him, and the spell, indefinitely. But as a backup, the pair had placed a heated cauldron beneath the Atronach, and had collected enough liquid Amber to try again if this attempt should fail.

After Dawnfang appeared for third time, Sheogorath ended his draining touch spell and stepped away from Mika. The pair swiftly stretched and groaned, the prince slipping into the water and gulping down enough to satisfy his snarling belly. He had maybe a half-hour before he needed to continue sucking Mika's energy. He used this time to take stock of the situation. Looking up at the cube he measured the Atronach's progress. The Cube itself was roughly 50 yards from end to end. The Atronach went about eleven feet in a given day; he was roughly halfway there. Sure enough, Sheogorath could see a faint glow in the cube.

Besides some stiffness, Mika was unhurt. She moaned a bit in pain as her bones popped from the stretching, however she seemed able to continue. As for himself, the Mad Prince was uncertain. The draining touch eliminated his need for sleep and food, yes. But he still hungered, he still yawned and ached to sleep. It was a matter of mental fortitude. Looking at his hands, he noticed an odd occurrence. A burn, as if from a flame, was slowly taking form on his right hand, from which he had summoned the Atronach. And his left hand was turning blue, the color of Mika's skin. A little weirded out, Sheogorath prepared himself, then placed his hand back on Mika's skin and resumed the spell.

Somewhere late in the fifth day, a strange sound, like a high-pitched whine, began emanating from the center of the cube. Ignoring it, Sheogorath shouted for the daedra to continue on. A bit later, the whine lowered in pitch but increased in volume, and this continued until it sounded like a great beast was roaring in the cavern. Sheogorath shouted for the Atronach to continue, but his voice was lost amidst the howling that now came from the cube. Suddenly, large cracks appeared on the surface, then roots poked through them, then finally the cube shattered into shards, deadly shards that rained down onto the pair. Thinking quickly, Sheogorath dropped his spells and hurled Mika into the pool of water, before diving to join her. But before he could reach the water, a thick root caught him mid-air, crushing against his stomach. The breath left his lungs in a startled 'oomph'. the Mad Prince was drawn back to the remains of the Amber cube. The dust that remained obscured a large, semi-human looking figure. "Hello?" the prince asked, seeing if it would respond.

"WHO ARE YOU TO DISTURB MY PEACE?!" demanded a booming voice, that seemed to be loud enough to come straight from his brain.

"Sheogorath, your Lord and prince!" our daring hero responded.

"SHEOGORATH IS LONG DEAD!" stated the voice. Now he was sure, there was no sound except that in his own head. Somehow the root that trapped him served as a conduit to his mind.

"Y-yes, Sheogorath has returned to Order as Jyggalag. I am the new Mad Prince Sheogorath," he stated.

"NO MORTAL CAN CLAIM THE THRONE OF MADNESS!" the booming voice-not voice told him.

"Which is why I need your help to become a daedra!" Sheogorath responded desperately.

"FOOLISH MORTAL! NOT EVEN THE NINE CAN GIVE YOU WHAT YOU SEEK!" claimed the booming voice.

"Please, just tell me how to use the Wellspring of the Shivering Isles to get to the Etanes!" he begged. The root around his chest had broken a rib, it was squeezing him so hard now. He thought he would black out in a minute or two. Suddenly the Mad Prince gasped; he felt the… thing, whatever it was, rooting around in his head. He knew it was looking at his memories, because he could see them as they all surfaced. The Dark Brotherhood, ending Mehrunes Dagon, the Daedric Prince of Destruction, and finally, defeating Jyggalag and becoming ruler of the Shivering Isles.

"…I SEE YOU HAVE COME FAR, WITH MUCH ACCOMPLISHED, MORTAL. I WILL TELL YOU WHAT YOU SEEK TO KNOW. HOWEVER, THE PATH BEFORE YOU IS LONG AND DIFFICULT; THE ETANES SHALL BE YOUR TRUE TEST!"

The Mad Prince felt new memories being implanted in his head. The location of the Wellspring at Cylarne, and… well, it was difficult to explain. It's as if the being had shown him a river, that flowed many different directions, sometimes flowing one way, then the exact opposite way right on top of each-other. Each individual current was made up of many life-forms. The being, which Sheogorath now knew was the Heart, showed him how one individual current flowed from one directon-an image of Cylarne floated through his head-into 12 other, mighty currents, that all met somewhere in the middle of this great stream. The Mad Prince gasped; the Etanes! This was how he would get there!

Somewhere along the way, Sheogorath had blacked out. He awoke to Mika looking over him, a mixture of relief and curiosity on her face. Turning his head, the prince saw a fully formed Amber cube obscuring the view of whatever it had been that had attacked and aided him. Groaning, he tried to sit up. "My Lord, two of your ribs are fractured, please remain on your back," his guardian angel requested, though she pushed him back with surprising force.

"Yes mistress," the Mad Prince responded, grinning at her. "So, what's changed?"

An embarrassed Mika explained; "Sometime after you blacked out, that creature-was it the Heart?-tossed you into the water and sealed itself in new Amber. A new root tunnel opened up further down in the water, though I was hesitant to swim you through it in your state. As far as I can tell, it goes up-and up and up and up.

"How long was I out?" asked the prince, eager to know if his bones had set enough to use magic.

"A day or two, my Lord," the Mazken answered. "I think you're ready for magic now."

For the next hour or so, Mika collected their scattered equipment, scattered because of the exploding Amber thing, and because they had been too lazy to keep track of it until now. Sheogorath held a blue-glowing hand over his midsection, and sighed in relief as he felt the ache recede. His ribs would still be sore, but he would be able to move about freely. Curious, he checked his hands to see how they fared after a few days rest from spell-casting. His left hand was back to its scaly texture, no more blue skin. But his right hand still possessed a burn-mark. But that quickly healed over with a bit of magic as well. Thinking he would discuss this phenomena at length with Haskill and the court healer, see what they thought.

Once both parties were ready and equipped, with their stuff in a water-tight sac, they clasped hands and slid into the water together. Taking a few hungry gulps to stop his tummy rumbling, the Mad Prince started off for the easily visible new tunnel-it was the only one that was brighter than the rest. With calm, measured strokes, the pair swam into the tunnel, then turned upward and began the comparably easy effort of reaching the surface. Onward and upward they swam, the light growing brighter little by little. Eventually, Duskfang appeared, so Sheogorath knew that they had been swimming for hours at least. Looking back, he couldn't see the bottom of the tunnel. Looking ahead, he could almost see the surface of the water, though the light seemed to have faded, probably because night had come to the surface.

After an hour-or so more of swimming, the duo finally swam out of the tunnel. Water still loomed above them, so they were probably in the Sea. The pair swam for a bit longer, then finally broke the surface of the water. Untainted air filled their lungs, and they knew that the tunnels were behind them. "Hey Mika. Next time I want to do that, persuade me otherwise, will you?"

"Yes, Lord," Mika responded, squeezing his hand. Together, they swam back to the Isles.

Woo! Next chapter timez! Review nowzez!


	7. Chapter 7

Hey men and sexy bodies! So, the internet does not extend to my lake house in Indiana. So, I decided to write this chapter and post it with the next one, as sort of a dual treat for you! Isn't that nice?! YES IT IS NICE! _

Next things next: some of you are screaming (or not, if no one reads this story) but we helped these dudes with their altar quests! That is very true. And in return, they gave you nice gifts. If you remember that. Now, how would it look if you demand more than the epic equipment that they handed you for doing their awesome stuff. Not very nice, would it? Not at all. So, as far as this is concerned, the favors are paid, in full, and need not be mentioned other than, yes, all the other daedric lords know my character, for better or for worse.

After spending a few days at a campsite not far off from where the pair had hit land, mostly to 'sleep' and eat real food and make repairs to their stuff, the two eventually made the trek back to New Sheoth. The locals waved to their Lord who had been missing for a long time, but otherwise did not raise much of a ruckus. However, several Mazken guards surrounded their Lord and walked with him back to the palace, more than a few noting Mika's long hair that was now in plain view. Once on the palace grounds, Several Aureal guards formed up along with the Mazken, though Sheogorath was sure that the only think keeping them from killing each-other was his presence.

Yawning a little, Sheogorath entered the throne room at the head of an impressive procession. Looking about, he saw that little had changed. The court healer and Haskill still stood at the foot of his throne, and his Aureal guard still stood behind it,her eyes lighting up when she saw her Lord return, only to darken when she spotted a smirking Mika at his side. Reaching his throne, Sheogorath turned and collapsed into the comfy chair, Mika taking her place at his left. The assembled daedra knelt and lowered their heads. "My guardswomen, you have my undying gratitude for protecting my Realm in my absence. However, our true test is yet to come. Soon enough, I must leave again, and this time I may return with new threats to follow. Thus, I issue this call to the Isles: Prepare for War!" The assembled guards at once stood and filed out into their respective areas. The reason for their existence was in this order; they were to defend the Realm from its enemies. No simpler thing could have been asked of them.

Haskill approached the throne, no surprise on his features. "My Lord, you arrive after being gone for two months and a day, then issue a call to war and say you will be leaving again soon. Just another day in the Isles I see,"

Sheogorath cackled and beckoned the chamberlain. "Haskill, come, tell my how my Realm has faired in my absence."

A chair was brought to the throne, and the prince discussed the affairs of state long into the evening.

Apparently, the Hunters guild had been an instant success. The anonymous Orc had been happy for the help against the Scalons, and gladly shared his knowledge with the eager applicants. Other members eventually developed efficient ways of dispacting Baliwogs, Grummites, Elytra, and even Gnarls. The result were large, organized hunting parties being routinely dispatched to deal with troubled areas. Many members had also come up with tasty recipes for preparing the dead monsters, and the Shivering Isles was now well fed on a balanced diet of plant and man-eating creature. The money came both from contracts the guild received from beleaguered settlements, and from establishments that purchased their food or raw materials for their own preparation. Another aspect that Sheogorath had not foreseen was the sale of monster parts to the Alchemists living in his Realm. Many a scalon scale was purchased, not by a hungry patron, but by a knowledge seeker wielding a retort. Some of the raw materials went to entomologists for the study of the beasts themselves, or even etiologist for the study of medicine. And not only was the guild netting monster parts. They found lots of Amber and Madness ore, which two smiths living in New Sheoth were very happy about indeed. The money netted from all of this scavenging went towards payment of the guild associates, the funding of expansion, and the building of a permanent guild residence. The site was the old ruins of Vitharn, down near the Mad King's boot. The grackles that had taken up residence there were happy to see more humans, and even happier to noticed that these humans enjoyed eating the same creatures they did.

The Ruins Guild had gotten off to a rockier start. Dyus had been reluctant, to put it lightly, to aid in the research of the Isle's history. However, a visit from Haskill had soon changed his mind. Haskill himself wouldn't say how, but the smirk on his Aureal guard's face told the Mad Prince enough. With Dyus proving amendable to wisdom, he was soon showing the eager young warriors and architects where best to dig up the Isle's long-forgotten history. However, after several attempts, the many denizens of the underground ruins had proven more than a match for any expedition into their homes. Haskill had been forced to request support from the old Visceromancer Relmyna. With her help, the Guild was able to more easily dispatch their foes, with techniques that prevented a Shambles from exploding upon its demise, or how to make a Flesh Atronach explode by hitting its glowing runes. Once a ruin was declared safe by the guild, the architects were brought in, clearing old passage-ways and piecing together ancient tablets or rune tables. Once all this was over with, the rights to said ruin were rented to the highest bidder, or bought for a more substantial investment. The benefactor could then bring in settlers, archeologists, historians, Heretics, anything went in their new place. The money made went to funding more expeditions into other ruins, expanding the guild, and funding a permanent home for them out of Xirethard. The guild had chosen Xirethard, both for its connection to the Palace, and the fact that its traps made a good training regimen for new recruits. So far, five ruins had been marked as having potential by Dyus. Three of them were still in the process of being cleared. Fain, the first ruin to be successfully declared 'safe', had been bought by a wealthy historian, and knowledge seekers were now swarming the site. Ebrocca, the second such ruin, had been purchased by a business man of sorts. He immediately began moving settlers into the cleared ruin, hiring guards and outfitting them with uniform armor and weapons, and charging historians by the week to examine his ruins.

All in all, Sheogorath was happy with the results so far. He was especially pleased that people had been so innovative with the guilds on their own, such as business-men purchasing the ruins for profit, or the monster's innards being sold to parties besides eating establishments. He was happy that his people were not following the exact plan that he had given then- it showed that they were indeed capable of free-will and innovation, and were indeed chaotic mad-men.

Next on the list was Cylarne. To this end, the Duke of Mania and the Duchess of Dementia were summoned from their Zzzzz to discuss the matter. Haskill informed the Mad Prince that there had been little progress in the way of a settlement, despite Antigone's repeated attempts to coerce Mind-Bender. Once the heads of both houses were present, Sheogorath looked them over, searching for differences in their appearance. Mind-Bender was his old erratic self-possibly intoxicated at all times, eyes twitching, but his mind and senses sharp as knives. He wore nothing but his small clothes, probably because he had been with a partner in bed at the time he had been summoned. His fur was unkempt, possibly for years, and his eyes past blood-shot. Based on his appearance, Sheogorath gave him a few weeks before his veins popped like worn screws. He looked every inch the perfect leader for the House of Mania.

Antigone, on the other-hand, was perfectly orderly, though her eyes twitched at every sound. This was an improvement over her mother, who tossed a knife or shot a spell at every unknown sound. She wore her signature red-dress, no doubt having thrown it on after waking up surrounded by guards. Sheogorath grinned at her, then shifted in his throne to have them both in his vision. " Now then! I am told, Mind-Bender, that you have refused Duchess Antigone's requests for a settlement of Cylarne."

"This is true, my Lord Sheogorath," Mind-Bender admitted, his strong, charismatic voice sounding in direct contrast to his appearance. "The land of Cylarne is in Mania territory, and I demand that it be returned to us at once. No settlement can-"

"But it was never Mania's to begin with, my Lord!" Antigone interrupted. "Until recently, the occupation shar-"

Sheogorath held up a hand, and Antigone immediately grew silent. "Duchess of Mania, you will speak when spoken to. I will hold you in contempt should another outburst occur. This goes for you as well Mind-Bender!" he informed the smug looking duke. "Now, if we are through with interruptions, Mind-Bender, please continue."

"Yes, my Lord. As I stated, I demand that Mania's territory be returned to it in full. Anything less will be seen as an insult to the House of Mania."

Sheogorath nodded. "Duly noted. Now then, Antigone. What is your response?"

"My Lord Sheogorath, first allow me to apologize for my inglorious outburst earlier. Now then, to the matter at hand. My point stands that Mania has never had sole-claim to Cylarne. At best, the island-" at that word Mind-Bender had a fit of coughing, resulting in the Court Healer being called over to examine him. After being assured that everything was as it should be, Antigone was allowed to continue. "As I said, the _island has never been more than evenly shared between the Dark Seducers and the Golden Saints." Holding up a hand for his noble to pause, Sheogorath turned to his two guards._

"_Is what this woman claims true? Has the Isle of Flames ever been more than evenly shared between the Mazken and Aureals? _

_His Aureal guard nodded grudgingly, and Mika was able to nod with a bit more satisfaction. Holding up another hand to silence an encouraged Antigone, Sheogorath asked another question. "And has either party ever recognized the rule of Mania OR Dementia within said territory, at any time?" Both his guards shook their heads. Turning back to the bewildered nobles, Sheogorath nodded to Antigone._

"_My-my Lord, you've put us at a disadvantage. If neither of us is recognized as ruler of the Isle of Flame, then who is?" _

_Sheogorath turned expectantly to Mika. "Who rules the Isle of Flames?" _

"_The Mazken, my Lord!" came the response, almost as a reflex. The Aureal on his right would have growled if she hadn't been holding herself in check for her Lord. _

"_Well, there you have it. The Mazken rule the Isle of Flames. And who rules the Mazken?" _

"_My Lord Sheogorath!" Mika responded reflexively once again._

"_Very good." Sheogorath turned to the Holy Saint. "Do you think you would make better rulers of the Isle of Flames?" he asked the simmering daedra. _

"_Undoubtedly, my Lord Sheogorath," she answered, each word laced with venom towards Mika._

"_Well then, prove the Mazken wrong. Show me who my true servants are!" _

"_Of course, my Lord!" came the surprised, yet enthusiastic response. Immediately the Aureal sprinted from the room, calling for the Aureal guarding the palace. Behind Mika's back, where no-one could see, the Mad Prince squeezed her hand. _

_Finally turning his attention back to the speechless lords before him, Sheogorath cackled. "Looks like neither of you gets the Isle now! Unless-" he said, stressing the word. "Unless you can bring the conflict to an end for good, either by peace, or by conquering Cylarne at the head of your army. Go, then," he told them. "Go and prepare. I'm sure you've got a lot to think about!" he told the retreating lords. _

_Haskill appeared at his side, sighing. "And I was so sure the Isle of Flame had seen its years of bloodshed come to a close. My Lord, will your antics never cease?" _

"_Then I wouldn't be very deserving of the title Mad Lord now, would I?" he asked, laughing wildly. "Now then Haskill. Is there anything else I need to know? I'd like to begin preparations for the Etanes tomorrow. But if my Realm is in danger…" _

_Haskill shook his head. "My Lord, I feel our time would be better served educating you on the other princes."_

"_Yes Haskill," the Mad Prince said, sighing. "Let's hear an overview."_

_My Lord, there are 16 other Daedric Princes you shall meet at the Etanes. They are Azura, Queen of Twilight, Boethiah, the Traitor, Clavicus Vile, Lord of Bets and Deals of Power, Hermaeus Mora, Master of the Past Memories and Future Predictions, Hircine of the Hunt, Malacath, Patron of the Orcs and keeper of the Bloody Promise, Mehrunes Dagon, Lord of Destrucion, Nephala, the Web-Spinner,_

_Meridia, Keeper of the Life, Molag Bal, The Slave-Master, Namira, Keeper of the Ancient Darkness and Corruption, Nocturnal, Night Mistress, Peryite The Task-Master, Sanquine of the Festivals and base urges, Zaernima, the Dream Queen, and Jyggalag, Lord of Order."_

"_Yes yes I've heard all of these names before. So tell me Haskill, you've been to an Etanes before. How has it usually gone?" _

"_My lord, there are two camps, with a few outliers. Hermaeus Mora is always the 'director' of the Etanes, and all disputes are mediated and settled by him. Peryite is the lowest of the Princes, and is often not included in debate, unless Hermaeus Mora asks for a vote among all daedric princes. Rarely does this occur, but Peryite usually votes the logical path, so he would be a good ally for your cause. That leaves 15 of the seventeen daedra, who are usually split amongst themselves. You are usually allied most strongly with Sanguine, Nephala, Zaermina, and Clavicus Vile. The other camp used to be led by Jyggalag, but with his absence the forerunner has been Molag Bal. However, with Jyggalag no doubt returning to this Etanes, he will command the support not only of Molag Bal, but also Boethiah, Azura, and Nocturnal."_

_Sheogorath nodded, those pairings made sense, except "I thought Boethiah, signifying human decision through conspiracy and deceit, would be… ah, I see," he said, shaking his head. "Continue, Haskill."_

"_As my lord wishes. Now then, the remaining parties are key to your success in the Etanes. Mehrunes Dagon will generally support with your cause. However, with recent events, that support remains to be seen." _

_Sheogorath scoffed. "He'd let a petty thing like an ass kicking get in my way?! Oh… yeah, I guess he would. Continue." _

_Haskill waited patiently, then continued. "Other past supporters for your cause would be Namira, because your Dementia and her Realm are so similar, you share a kindred spirit. Hircine and Meridia both view your insistence that all life is sacred, no matter how flawed, with good favor. Now then, the uncertain party is Malacath. As patron of the Orcs, he has historically opposed your trickery of his kind. Especially when you tricked him into killing his own son, and stole the boy for your own purposes." _

_A bashful Mad Prince wove the comment away. "And why is he uncertain then?"_

"_My Lord, Malacath's Realm was one of the first to fall to Jyggalag. He was the most outspoken in condemning the Prince of Order to Madness."_

"_How do you know this Haskill?"_

"_My Lord Sheogorath, the former, spoke of that moment fondly, thinking it his conception."_

"_I see… and so, I assume that my victory is certain, if I have more princes in support than they do?"_

_Haskill shook his head. "My Lord, this is not so. Between the nine of you that are certain, Mehrunes Dagon and yourself are the most powerful. However, Jyggalag, Malacath, and Molag Bal are each at least matched in power, and you barely defeated Jyggalag at the Grey March. No my Lord, your victory is not certain."_

"_Then who is most powerful, if that's what it comes down to?!" demanded the Mad Prince angrily._

"_Hermaeus Mora, my Lord. He does not directly participate for this reason. He could eclipse all the other daedric princes if he so chose to do so. From there, it falls to Mehrunes Dagon and yourself, Jyggalag, Molag Bal, Hircine, Malacath, and Clavicus Vile. Below them are Nocturnal, Azura, Namira, Zaermina, Boethiah, Meridia, and Nephala. And finally, Peryite. _

"_I see. Why is this so?" _

"_It merely considers who has most been willing to show their power in the past Etanes. So far, Peryite has been ignored, almost willingly so, because he has never brought his power to bear. Obviously, Hermaeus Mora knows he has the most power, so he withdraws himself from the arguments. The Princes such as yourself simply have less restraint, so you are more-often recognized as powerful. Your group is less willing to act than those who oppose you, or less able, so your supporters are considered less-than because of this. However, do not despair my Lord. So long as we maintain our claim to the throne, Hermaeus Mora may end up calling for a vote among the Daedric Princes. Then, your victory is all but assured. _

"_I'll take your word for it Haskill. Is there anything else I need to know?" _

"_No my Lord, I don't believe so. You may retire." _

"_Thank you Haskill. I appreciate you keeping the Realm together in my absence. If there is anything you request…"_

_Haskill was already shaking his head. "No, my Lord, there is nothing. Please, retire to your room, and rest. There is much to accomplish in the following days." _

_Dutifully, the Mad Prince retired to his chambers. Unsure, Mika awkwardly stood at her post, having not been bidden to do otherwise. _

_Soon enough, however, a half-dressed, frustrated looking Sheogorath appeared before her and stared at her, looking confused. "I thought we'd established by now, you're supposed to follow me without asking."_

"_Y-yes my Lord, as always my lord," the Mazken mumbled, moving over to him slowly but hopefully. A tired-looking Sheogorath opened his arms, and enfolded the smiling daedra in them. Together, they made their way back to his rooms. A silent, observing Haskill jotted a note down, then left for bed himself. _

_The next morning, a groggy Sheogorath took a seat in his throne, only to find it had been occupied already. A muffled curse and a pointy object in his backside, along with the snarling of a nearby dog, caused Sheogorath to leap to his feet. "I thought that seat was more comfortable than usual!" he exclaimed. A young lad with black hair and pointy ears and teeth, cat's golden eyes, clad in overalls wielding and a long, familiar blade in his right hand sat in Sheogorath's chair. On his left side was a blood-red furred beast, which Sheogorath also remembered. The boy looked up at the Mad Prince, a look of surprise on his features. "I know I'm in the right place, and sitting on his throne. So where is Sheogorath, mortal?"_

_Sheogorath, equally surprised, could barely speak, finally choking out, "Clavicus! Clavicus Vile!" _

_Cookies here for you who guessed it! (::) (::)_

_Now review! Like the wind! _


	8. Chapter 8

Okay bro's and people-who-say-they're-my-bro-but-when-the-time-comes-they-end-up-not-being-my-bro here's what's going down. I spent most of today, the third, writing the last chapter. So around 9 I'm starting number 8. I think I'm addicted. Anyways, I'm stuck at the Lake, way south in Ohio, with no internet, no cellphone service, and with DVD's that everyone's already seen (but I still thought Night at the Museum 2 was still pretty funny) but yeah, I think I'm addicted to typing here. And I met this nice girl, I think her name was Becca. I talked with her a bit before she left (I think she thought I was annoying)

Well bros, I think I need to clear something up. When I said that there were daedric lords more powerful than one another, I was speaking the truth technically. The in-game canon states that, indeed, Peryite is in fact the Taskmaster, and is the least among the daedric lords. And with Hermaeus Mora's quest coming after the other shrine quests, I naturally assumed he was the most powerful, or at least, took on a distinction among the others. As for the rest, I simply grouped them in order of importance to humans. Let's be honest, Azura will not be stronger than Mehrunes Dagon or Molag Bal. However, there is a qualification. Let's say Azura happens to ambush Molag Bal on a given hour that happens to be dusk. Given her power, she'd win. Right? Right. So. My theory is thus. When a daedric lord can bring his full power to bear, he is as powerful as most other daedric lords (Mora and Peryite excluded of course). Certain conditions must be met, and these conditions are always changing, and favoring one lord over the other. Now, the conditions have more of an effect for people like Nocturnal, or Namira, or Azura, or Zaermina, when their power doesn't affect people so much as situations, (dreams, twilight, darkness)

Now, you're probably going to ask; But oh great story-master, why is someone like Malacath in the upper tier, when his dominion is only over orcs? And why is Nephala in the lower tier, when her dominion is all the tricks? Well, my bros, the answer is simple. In my universe, I picture Malacath as this great-raging-saber-bear thing that do what he want. He's not one to sit on the sidelines. By contrast, I see Nephala as much more subtle, more content to weave her way through an issue, rather than smash it to pieces!

So, in short, there's two themes to my organization of the peeps in the Etanes. One, whether their power is tied down to certain conditions. And two, whether or not their power seems to be more subtle or more straightforward. HOWEVER!FUCKING READ! That in no way implies I feel one daedric lord could pwnz0r5 all the others! (lookin at you Dagon!) They hold each other in check-and the lords have always struck a balance of power eventually. The last time, it was by cursing Jyggalag with Madness. This time, we'll see how things go. Hope you understood all that. Feel free to PM me with questions. I may even make fun of you for them =D

Now then! Ir al Trabajo! That's foreignese for BACK TO WORK!

"Clavicus Vile!" exclaimed Sheogorath, delighted in spite of himself. Stepping forward, the Mad Prince embraced the small figure warmly, like an old friend. "I never expec- wow! I'm actually here with Clavicus Vile!" he exclaimed, setting the bewildered boy back on his throne. The Hound had done nothing but watch the festivities.

"Mortal, I'll ask one more time. Where is Sheogorath? We have urgent matters to discuss!" The last words were stressed with a hiss, of sorts.

"I-I _am_ Sheogorath! Don't you recognize me?" he inquired. It was as he and Haskill had feared; whatever illusion the people were under, it was not fooling the Daedric Princes.

Clavicus Vile cackled, and turned to his hound for support. "Oh Hound, this is the mortal who brought me this very sword, right? Why does it insist on being called the Prince of Madness?"

"I-I tried to tell you before Clavicus, things have changed in the Isles recently."

Sheogorath held up his hands. "Clavicus, I'll make you a bet. If the next eight people walking into this room address me as anything other than "my Lord Sheogorath, I'll let your sword have my soul. If I win, you acknowledge me as Sheogorath, Daedric Prince of Madness, and listen to what I have to offer."

"Deal!" Clavicus agreed quickly; there was no way this mortal would survive when the _real_ Sheogorath walked in.

However, the mortal did not do as expected. He did not run! Instead, he sent his daedric helpers to gather as many townspeople as they could to the throne room, and told his guards not to permit anyone else in otherwise. Clavicus watched the mortal for signs of distress, but nothing transpired. Suddenly, he noticed Haskill strolling into the court-room. "Haskill! Who is this man that stands with us?" the Daedric Prince demanded. He was certain Haskill, of all people, would see the truth.

However, with no prompting at all, magical, visual, or otherwise, Haskill simply looked at the mortal, sighed, and answered; "That is my Lord Sheogorath, Prince of Madness and Lord of the Shivering Isles."

Clavicus was dumbfounded. Speechless even. What had this mortal accomplished here? Haskill was no mere man, he was bound to this Realm as much as the daedra that served its Lord. Next to him, his Hound whined and pawed at the throne, a worried look on its face. Before the stunned Daedric Lord could console his partner, the mortal flung the doors wide open, and beckoned in the assembled people. Mazken, Aureal, and Human shuffled into the throne room, and soon were tightly packed from wall to wall. Standing in front of his throne, the mortal raised his staff-wait, that was Sheogorath's! This was- and demanded of the people "Who am I that stands before you?

The response was a thunderous, "MY LORD SHEOGORATH!" with a few additions of Lord of this or Prince of that.

Sheogorath turned to grin at the speechless Daedric Prince before him. "Now then, who am I, Clavicus Vile?"

The response was one of bewilderment; "Sheogorath, the Mad Prince."

Later that day, in a secret meeting in the main hall, which does indeed sound oxymoronic, the Mad Prince was just finished giving the facts of the situation to his esteemed visitor. "…and that is where we stood, last night when I returned. You arrived today, and hopefully can give us a better understanding of what we're up against at the Etanes."

An astute Hound stood in rapt attention, no-doubt absorbing the details. All Clavicus seemed to care about was the fact that the mortal had outsmarted him. Still, the mortal had impressed him, and he grudgingly accepted all this as true.

"Now then, Clavicus, you told me this morning that you had urgent business. Tell me what I can do, my friend," Sheogorath asked his fellow prince.

Startled out of his reverie, Clavicus patted his dutiful Hound and shook his head. "It's not so important, you've answered most of it. I came here seeking answers about the reappearance of Jyggalag, and you've answered that quite nicely. I wondered what to do before, but now I see our path clearly ahead of us. We must gather support among the other Daedric Princes to instate you as rightful prince of Madness."

Sheogorath nodded, agreeing. So his plan had been the best course of action all along.

"…and we must make war on Jyggalag and Molag Bal."

Still nodding mechanically, the Mad Prince jumped back and pointed his cool staff thing at the boyish figure before him. "Wait, what? I can't handle that right now. I need to worry about becoming a daedra and learning more about my own Realm before I handle someone else's!"

Clavicus stared for a moment, then laughed. Hard. "N-no one knows everything about their Realm! Half the stuff you don't know won't hurt you, anyways." Still having fits of laughter, Clavicus stood and patted Sheogorath on the back. "Don't worry about it, it's not so much different than what Dagon did to your old world. Just open a path from your world to theirs, then, swarm through."

Sheogorath nodded, that did seem to be the way daedric warfare worked. "But, why do we need to make war? Surely now isn't the best time!"

"On the contrary, now is the perfect time!" hissed Clavicus sharply. "Molag will be preoccupied with the return of Jyggalag; he won't want to give up his power at the Etanes. And Jyggalag's Realm has been silent for millenia; he'll be hard pressed to put up a defense."

Sheogorath shook his head. "Shouldn't we be more worried about the Etanes and making sure I have a right to rule _before_ I end up invading someone?"

Nodding, Clavicus acquiesced. "Very well, we'll plan for the Etanes. Then, once your throne is secure, we'll go to war."

Still unsure about the war part, Sheogorath nodded, and together the two daedric princes began to plot and debate.

At one point, Haskill noticed the two Daedric princes writing notes to one-another, though they were still conversing quite amiably. A glimpse at Sheogorath's note-pad revealed the following responses to Clavicus Vile's own notes, which were much longer, smaller, and more hastily written and read; _I see. Is there no way?/ We have been, yes./ Do you know of the condition?/ And you believe that this is the solution?/ Do you require something in return?/ Thank you, my friend./ _Soon after, the notes were tossed innocently into the fire.

The conversation was much like yesterday's, in terms of its direction. Clavicus was uncertain what had fooled the masses of his Realm, but Clavicus _was_ certain that the other Daedric Princes would see through this illusion and know that the Realm of Sheogorath is now home to a mortal ruler. Clavicus promised to lend his aid against incursions, both military and clandestine, from an opportunistic Daedric Lord who assumed mortals were easily taken advantage. Clavicus was also certain that Sanguine and Nephala would also aid them. Clavicus explained, and Haskill and the Hound supported, that they had always maintained a close relationship between the four of them. Sheogorath had historically been the leader-though Nephala and Clavicus had always been better at the politicking.

Clavicus was also certain that Hermaeus Mora and Mehrunes Dagon would support his attempt to attain the throne. Mora's view, he explained, was that, once a position becomes open, it needs to be filled or else eliminated. Since you're the on-hand claimant for the Throne of Madness, he'll give you his vote, if that is what it comes to. "…though he'll say it's because he can't stand Molag. No one can, really."

Sheogorath cackled and nodded. "He does strike me as not being very fun at parties."

"It's true," agreed Clavicus, chuckling as well. "All he does is swing around his sword and threaten to bind us all in chains!" The duo cracked up at this, though their observers couldn't imagine why.

Dagon was just as practical; the enemy of my enemy is my friend. Sheogorath and Dagon were diametrically opposed to Jyggalag. In the last war of the Daedra, Dagon's forces had met and defeated Jyggalag's most often on the field of battle. Dagon and Jyggalag hated each other with a passion burning brighter than the fires in Dagon's daedric Realm. According to Clavicus, Dagon's dislike of the Mad Prince was tempered by a respect for defeating him almost single-handedly. And even if that hadn't been true, Dagon was willing to unite with anyone against his enemies, so as long as the Mad Prince proved amiable to the Destructive Prince, things would be as hunky dory as possible.

"And what about that fight with Akatosh? Is Dagon all right?"

Clavicus laughed, and patted his fellow prince on the shoulder. "No, he's not all right at all. He's raring to defeat something, to prove that he is not a weakened Lord, to be defeated by a mere mortal."

Sheogorath snickered, "To be honest, all I did was jab at his foot." They both had a great laugh at that one.

"And I assume Malacath going to remain with Molag Bal on this one?"

Clavicus shrugged. "Malacath can do what he wants, he won't matter much in the long run. Jyggalag has his eyes set on repeating old conquests, so Malacath knows he will be in the sights. What this means for us, I have no idea. Just know that Malacath won't be doing anything to, or for, anyone in the near future." Sheogorath nodded. "This all seems to make sense. I _must _be crazy!" Again, both of the daedric princes laughed.

Their preparations continued long into the night. Finally, around midnight, Sheogorath had to excuse himself. "Clavicus, I can't thank you enough for coming," he said. "I hope you'll stay until it's time for us to gather."

Clavicus awkwardly looked at his Hound, not at the Mad Prince. Haskill stepped forward and placed a hand on Sheogorath's shoulder. "My Lord, someone must warn your allies of your… situation."

The prince sighed and nodded, and clasped Clavicus' hand warmly. "My friend, you've aided my in so many ways with your visit, I cannot ask you for more. Please, go with my blessing. Not the bad one either," they both chuckled at that one.

Clavicus sighed, then stood in his chair, looking at his Hound still. "Hound, I need you to stay here and protect this mortal."

There was a collective "wuh?" from everyone in the room, including Sheogorath and the Hound himself.

Clavicus cackled and pointed his sword at the Mad Prince. "Would you rather they heard the news secondhand from my Hound, while I stay here? I think not!" the Betting Prince declared. "I

I'll go spread the word to our allies personally. The Hound will remain, make sure you are prepared to face the Etanes. Hound!" the Hound stood at attention, waiting for its command. "If Sheogorath and Haskill do not appear together with you at the Etanes, we will have serious difficulties in the future. Am I understood?"

"Yes, Clavicus Vile," the creature answered in his too-high voice.

"Good boy. Now then! I'll be off!" With that, Clavicus jumped out of his seat and through the open window. Looking out after him, all Sheogorath saw was the tip of his sword disappearing into blackness.

"Now then, Hound of Clavicus Vile. What can I do to make you comfortable?"

"Nothing, Mad Prince. Just point me at the biggest threat towards you arriving at the Etanes unharmed, and I'll do my best."

Impressed, Sheogorath and Haskill told the Hound of Antigone's source that he was in fact mortal, and the interloper he'd wabberjacked, in what had seemed so long ago. "So, then, how would you like to proceed? Herdir has yet to break our guest."

The Hound shook his head. "I'll have him singing by tomorrow, and I'll be off. I'll be back in a week or two, when the Etanes is set to begin. We'll discuss your mode of transportation at that time." Sheogorath nodded and patted the Hound. "Thank you. He's in the dungeon, down that way," Sheogorath told him, pointing towards the House of Dementia. The Hound dipped his head to thank the Mad Prince and started off for his mission. Sighing, Sheogorath relaxed in his throne. "That! Was an ordeal," he told the remaining people, Mika and Haskill. His Aureal guard was lost in the planning to retake the Isle of Flame from the Mazken. "Mika, please search for eavesdroppers one last time." Bowing, Mika turned and began sweeping the room. "Haskill, please approach the throne," Sheogorath commanded his chamberlain, quieter than usual. Startled, Haskill stepped forward, leaning down to hear his Lord's instruction.

A clawed hand appeared at his throat, muscles tensed and twitching. "Haskill, you've always been a loyal servant," Sheogorath pointed out calmly. Haskill, for the first time surprise on his face, involuntarily tried to retreat. But an immobilization spell kept him in place. "Haskill, I've known I could trust you from my first day in the Isles. However, I must make this per-fect-ly clear," the Mad Prince told him softly. "If anyone other than yourself, Clavicus, or I, know of what you saw earlier today, there will be _**dire**_ consequences."

Haskill nodded as best he could, being immobilized. Sheogorath released the spell and his grip on Haskill's throat, then stood up and yawned, stretching to catch Mika's hand as she returned to the throne. "Haskill, you're boring me! I'm off to bed."

Later that night, Sheogorath stood on the balcony his private chambers allowed him, looking out over the palace and all of New Sheoth. Mika stared out to him from the bed they shared, worried about him. He seemed lost in thought, just staring at the land he was soon to rule forever. Tentatively, Mika climbed off of their bed and slipped a bed-sheet around her naked form. She padded softly out to join him, walking around to his front and pressing herself into his chest. Her arms gripped him tightly. "My Lord, tell me what ails you."

Sheogorath sighed, and leaned down, whispering softly into her ear. What ever was said, it brought tears to Mika's eyes, and her body sagged against his. He supported her with his arms, eventually picking her up and cradling her. Together, they returned to bed.

The next few weeks saw a flurry of activity around the palace at New Sheoth. Both Mania and Dementia were gearing up for war; but no attack on Cylarne commenced. Antigone and Mind-Bender held nightly meetings, mostly in secret, though he could guess what was going on. Haskill seemed his old self, though occasionally he would give Sheogorath curious looks when he thought no one was looking. Mika and Sheogorath remained together, and Haskill seemed to be the only one who knew, or cared to know. They made no attempt to hide their relationship, but neither did they flaunt it. Mika would follow the Mad Prince to his rooms in the evening, and would emerge with him the following morning. Mika's superiors did not seem to care, except maybe to rub it in the face of the fuming Aureals. For their part, the Holy Saints held their tongues, especially around the Mazken in question, for she was never far from her Lord.

Sheogorath was a whirlwind of decisions court-hearings, doing his best to keep order in the Realm. He wanted as many problems solved before he had to vanish, possibly for the last time. He heard all complaints; from a woman arguing that cutting her child in half for her two daughters was a good idea, to a man arguing that imprisoning an Elytra simply for maiming the captor's wife was wrong! At times, when he slept, Mika heard him mumbling about Deepwallow's boundaries, or High-Cross's Gnarl problem.

The Hound of Clavicus Vile made surprising progress following the leads he found. _Like a real bloodhound Sheogorath thought once, chuckling to himself. The Hound sent regular messages, how though the Mad Prince had no idea, updating them on his progress. Apparently, the Heretics had started to move against both Sheogorath himself, and the Zealots in the south as well. Several skirmishes had been fought while the prince had been underground. The Hound also sent back several locations, not exactly telling him what was there, but with such hints as "maybe a light here would reveal a few scattering roaches," or "why don't we go hunting here? The rats are large this time of year!" Sheogorath discreetly dispatched his guards to the places the Hound specified. Soon he received reports of a Zealot leader being freed, or a Heretic leader captured for questioning. The questioned Heretic leaders revealed more locations for more raids, and the cycle continued, getting bigger and bigger. However, the Hound warned that, while progress was being made, He'd yet to come across the group that had made Antigone so sure that Sheogorath had been a mortal. Sheogorath and he agreed that they were the true threat here, not the run-of-the-mill Heretics. _

_Beyond the matters at court, Sheogorath was doing his best to prepare for what he knew would be a true test of his ability to rule the Isles. He knew that, one way or another, he would come to be seen as it's true ruler. He'd also come to see that, as Clavicus had told him, war was inevitable. So, in preparation, the Mad Prince had been in contact with the leaders of the Mazken and the Aureals, named Myre and Kakzu. Both women were impressive figures, even for their kind. They maintained that the other was not needed for an assault, right up until the point Sheogorath slammed his fist into the table. "ENOUGH!" he'd roared at his commanders. "We will do this my way, or so help me I'll work with the Hunger and Flesh Atronach's over my own army!" After that, the commanders had worked together with him to create a working invasion strategy. Looking at a map of Molag Bal's Realm, Sheogorath soon saw that the invasion would not be an easy one. _

_But speaking of the other creatures in his Realm, Relmyna had expressed interest in his proposal to assimilate some of the more potent forms of life into a working defense force. Under her supervision, several humans began working night and day to set up a layered system of defending the Realm from invaders. _

_Sheogorath also visited his favorite grackle more often now. The others had taken wing, looking for greener pastures in the Realm. However, the one which had imprinted on our favorite Daedric Prince had remained behind. One day, the Mad Prince had reached up to stroke the creature's neck. Suddenly, his right hand began to burn, like he was casting a spell. His hand glowed a blackish red color, and a white-pink ball of light appeared above the grackle's head, drawing the screeching creature in, only to deposit it back out in the same spot. "That was… odd," the prince mused. Curious, he turned and tried to perform the same spell over again. The same pink ball appeared above his hand, and it deposited the unfortunate grackle before him. "A teleportation spell, like Haskill's. I see…" he turned and grinned at Mika, who watched the creature warily, still suspicious that it would hurt her Lord. "Mika, when do I get your spell?" he asked._

"_M-my Lord, I don't believe you'll ever need one," she told him. _

_He believed that, if she could, she'd be blushing. "Oh Mika," he said, smiling a more tender smile and pulling her into a hug. _

_Just then, the Hound of Clavicus Vile appeared, shaking himself to be loose of mud that was clinging to his crimson coat. "Sheogorath, it's time."_


	9. Chapter 9

Heeeeeeey bro's! What's up?!!?!!??!?!?!?!?!?!?! Okay, ladies, I haven't been completely honest with you. I know you're probably all swooning over how awesomely hot my brain must be for knowing all of these things about daedra right off the top of my head, since I don't have my PS3 or anything. But truth be told, I'm not alone on this trail, girls. I know, I know, you still love me. But srs, I need to give kudos to my bro kyle. He's been my bro for years now, and I feel like he deserves recognition for helping in my research (that and he told me that one of these had better recognize his work or else he would stop helping me.) Specifically, he helped me get the names of Relmyna, her fort, Xirethard as being the fort that connected to the House of Dementia, naming and giving the natures of all the daedric princes (not including Sheogorath, Jyggalag, Mehrunes Dagon, or Clavicus Vile of course =D ) He also helped me get the descriptions of Sanguine, Molag Bal, Malacath, Boethia, and Nephala, which I'll be using in this chapter. Hey, if I finish this soon, you'll get FOUR (count 'em) FOUR chapters at once timez! That's like a lot bro's.

For those of you having trouble with the fighty thingy, picture a millipede. Make the outer shell as hard and shiny as steel. Give it an ugly face as described below. Make the underside filled to the brim with writhing tentacles, each with a blade at the end, Like Medusa's hair, or a Malboro. Only with spikes =)

For those of you wondering over the terminology on the Essence Stream, I'm actually not going to be all indepth analysis-ness for you this time. Suffice to say, it is a steady stream of consciousness that has certain outlets and inlets that have an effect on the 'currents', or paths each daedric essence takes. Imagine the chains in a clock, all being pulled in different directions. Imagine the weights at the end of each chain, pulling that chain towards it. The chain is the Stream, each individual link a daedric essence. The weights at the end are the different wellsprings, that allow for rebirth of the daedra. The one problem with this analogy is that the essences are free to move between the chains, creating the idea more of a river of free-flowing daedric essences, that jump from one current to the next on their journey through the Stream. Like a highway! =D As for words like 'said' or 'vision' or 'sight', these are all abstract in this case. In reality, in the most physical sense of reality, Sheogorath is unconscious, laying in a magical, glowing pool of liquid. The pool sucked out his essence, the crap that makes his body work, the magic, his mind, the stuff we consider the 'soul,' and shot it into the Essence Stream, since his body's hold on it was weakened. (I really would put all this in the actual story, but it would seriously hurt the flow, don't you think? Get it? Flow? Essence Stream? XD) So, all the things he perceives about the Stream itself are his magic/soul/mind/essence's attempt to reconcile the things it's perceiving with the physical constraints it is used to. That is to say, his brain is taking all of the crap it's getting from all the experiences, and putting it into a logical order that Sheogorath can understand. Like a filter! Good thing for us, huh? Now, I will say it again. **REPETITION!!!!!!!!!1!11!!1!11111!!!!!!111!!!!1 **This is not meant to be difficult to understand. I don't want the plot to be punching-you-in-the-brain hard, or the concepts I come up with convoluted and quirky. If you have a question, need clarification, ask it in a review or PM me. I can't fix something if I don't know it's broken!

Now, as I always say; BACK TO WORK!

Sheogorath was ready. At his side was the Hound of Clavicus Vile, and behind him stood Haskill, as prepared as ever for what lay ahead. "Now then, Sheogorath. Do you know how you're going to get to the Wellspring? It's the only way a mortal can travel to the Etanes."

Sheogorath nodded, stepping forward into the stronghold of Cylarne. He noticed an increased number of Mazken, even more than the reinforcements that arrived after they took Cylarne could account for. "You've been busy!" the Mad Prince praised, speaking to the new Cylarne commander, a Mazken woman named Koca.

"You honor me Lord," Koca responded, stepping to the side. "Now then, I'm told we have an unexplored section of Cylarne. Would you accept an honor guard?"

The prince nodded and took the lead, now being flanked by Koca herself on one side, along with Mika on his left, as always. Next to Koca padded the Hound of Clavicus Vile, and behind them stood Haskill with five other Mazken to round out the party. Sheogorath took them to what was formerly the Aureal camp, and to their half of the Flame of Agnon. He counted the bricks from the flame to the wall on the left, After losing count for the third time, the Mad Prince cursed, then smacked the infernal wall with his staff. The wall shattered, revealing a dusty hallway, fraught with cobwebs and large insects. The surrounding crowd of Mazken gasped, and several filed in ahead of the procession to secure what looked to be a long-abandoned section of Cylarne. The group stepped in after several groups of Mazken war bands proceeded ahead of them. Amidst the empty, dusty halls were shouts of 'Ae -Tah Mazken!' as the other Mazken found and engaged long-forgotten creatures, probably undead. "Looks to me like this would be a good fallback position incase of an attack, Koca, seeing as the Aureal have no idea this is here."

"You speak truly Lord. There seems to be many forgotten passages here, perhaps leading to other parts of Cylarne as well. We may be able to flank an attacker, or send out runners for reinforcements if we are outnumbered." Sheogorath almost mentioned that they could also make a strategic retreat, but held his tongue. This site was as sacred to both his daedric armies as Brellach or Pinnacle Rock. Retreat from here would not occur to any Mazken. So on they walked, passing footprints in the thick dust made from other Mazken exploring the new territory. Near the end of the main hallway stood a large door that blocked the group from what was beyond, most likely the Wellspring. On the door, an inscription read: "Creative and Insane, Watchful and Paranoid, Astute and Obsessive, Reclusive and Addicted, Manic and Demented."

Sheogorath coughed, then stated clearly: "Madness!" The door creaked as long-dormant mechanisms spun with new life. Slowly, very slowly, the stone tablets swung inward, revealing an epic sight! A large pool, filled with softly glowing green liquid, stretched before them, at least eight feet deep from the look of it. "Well then, that was easier than-" the Mad Prince began, before being interrupted rudely by a large roaring sound. Looking up, a large, angry looking insect crawled forth from the shadows behind the pool, and planted itself squarely in front of the party as an obstacle. The creature was many-limbed, though most appeared to be small legs that allowed for easy movement. On its back looked to be a steel shell, and Sheogorath assumed that no attacks their party could manage would punch through it. Unless of course the Hound had something in mind. The face of this beast was hideous beyond description, a combination of pulsating mandibles and antennae, with lots of segmented eyes interspersed throughout the whole ordeal. Standing upright, several long, sharp-ended appendages detached from the middle of the beast, and waved about in a menacing way.

Sheogorath stepped forth, the Hound dutifully at his side. The rest of the party simply watched, dumbstruck by the sight before them. "Does it always have to be something?!" they demanded in unison, the Hound baring his teeth, and Sheogorath drawing Dawnfang Superior. Haskill began to take notes on the monster before them, intending to ask Dyus what it was they saw here. "Hound, can you break that shell?" Sheogorath asked, side-stepping a claw-arm-tentacle thing and slashing it, chopping the appendage away from the rest of the beast. Howling in pain, it retreated slightly.

"Of course Sheogorath. Buy me eight minutes, and I'll fry it up for your dinner this evening."

"As you wish!" the Mad Prince grunted, swiping away more of the bladed tentacles. "Damn, I should've brought my weed whacker!"

Behind him came the daedric war calls of "Ae-Tah Mazken!" as the rest of his war party joined the fray. Together, the Dark Seducers formed a solid line behind Sheogorath, cutting down any tentacles that attempted to strike the Hound. Sheogorath, for his part, managed to advance, step by step, towards the towering monster, until he was in the middle of the giant mass of swirling flesh and sharpness…ness. Releasing a guttural cry, the Mad Prince chopped at said mass with his sword, netting a cry of agony from the monstrosity. But this was no mere agonized utterance, the sound was layered in magic, and forced Sheogorath back like a wall had crushed against him. Grunting from the force, the Mad Prince knocked into his honor guard. "Hello ladies, I'll be joining you here for the moment," he informed the startled daedra, who were themselves struggling to remain on their feet.

The monster ended its sound-wall cry and doubled over, seething in agony at the wounds inflicted on it, both from the shots at its vitals, and the loss of so many limbs. Suddenly, its head shot up, and it screeched in a rage, then charged toward the group, intent on running them all down. "Hound! Any time now!"

"It'll be a few more seconds!" came the frustrated response.

"Of course it will. I'll be down there," Sheogorath told his guards, before charging forward and sliding beneath the scampering legs of the beast, getting lots of cuts in the process. Now beneath it, the Mad Prince raised his sword, slicing through countless flailing spear-limbs as the monster passed over him. He felt the beast quake involuntarily from the pain of it, and cried with it as several limbs found their marks on his body. Suddenly, it didn't seem so terrible that the Etanes was happening soon, since he was going to die here, tentacle through his stomach.

A large, angry howl interrupted his thoughts of death, and an energy jolt shocked him fully back to awareness. Heaving a steaming carcass off of him, Sheogorath stood up, looking at the exploded remains of the monster. "I guess it popped," he said, looking around. The shell was the only part of the monster still intact, but even that was shredded and pitted. He guessed that the monster had cooked beneath it's steel material until _pop_! Looking down at himself, he could see that there was indeed a wound on his gut, but no lethal spear-thrust through it. He would survive. The worst wounds were on his face, with a torn fin and cut cheeks that could turn infected, and probably would considering the poison that monster's blood probably carried. Looking out over the rest of his party, the Mad Prince could see he was worse off than the others; the most serious wound was a small cut on Koca's arm. Sighing, Sheogorath raised his staff and released a far-reaching healing spell, one that probably covered the whole of Cylarne. It fell to the ground as a large blue ball, then exploded on contact, sending waves of healing energy throughout the ruins. "A bit of overkill, I guess," he said, shrugging.

Soon enough, more Mazken arrived and cleared out the remains of the whatever-it-was. Haskill commented that Dyus might know more, but Sheogorath just shrugged. It was dead-ed, and the way before them was clear. That was the important thing. "Okay Hound, how do we do this?" the prince demanded.

"Well, first we all get naked and have an orgy," the Hound explained. Sheogorath raised his hands in celebrate, but a shaking head from Haskill told him that this was not the case. "Sorry, I had to go for it. Anyways, here's how this will work. So long as you mortals know the way, I will travel the stream alongside you, and shield you with my essence. Otherwise, you'll become food for some random daedric essence looking for an easy way to remake itself."

"Gotcha. But, how do we actually get into the Essence Stream?"

"That's simple. I'll go in first to wait. What you need to do is follow me into the pool, then drown yourselves into unconsciousness."

"Uhh, hello! I have gills here!"

"Oh, right. Someone needs to whack you on the head into unconsciousness."

"Of course."

"Then, once we're all safely under my care and in the Essence Stream, we'll be off to the Etanes!"

"Oh, joy. Okay, go ahead without us, we'll find a way to join you eventually." The Hound dipped its head, then sprang into the pool, the Wellspring, and vanished in a blast of light. "If only it were that easy," Sheogorath mused. "Okay Haskill, I'll make it easy for you. Let out a deep breath, then I'll cast an immobilize spell on you and toss you in myself."

"Oh, the joys of being a chamberlain," Haskill complained, releasing the breath from his body and turning about.

Sheogorath cackled, then punted the unfortunate servant into the Wellspring, nailing him with a spell mid-air. "That's a great shot!" Turning about, he looked on to see the Mazken arguing furiously, trying not to be the one who had to whack their Lord over the head. Mika stood off to the side, looking awkward and feeling unwanted. He grinned and waved her over. "Don't worry about it, I have my own way. Just know, if I don't return triumphant, it will fall onto you and your kin to carry us through what will follow. Understood?"

Mika nodded and gripped his hand. "You honor us, Lord."

Sheogorath grinned, then let his hand drop and turned away. Summoning his favorite Xivilai, he gave the familiar its orders. With a solid thump on the back of his head, Sheogorath was out cold. There was nothing, nothing at all, and then… light. He felt as though he were surrounded by a bright light, staving away the darkness. Looking around, he saw the red trail of the Xivilai returning to its own Realm. Turning the other way, he spotted Haskill's trail, and followed it away from the shell of his body. Soon, he joined Haskill's essence under what could only be described as a furry umbrella, laced with teeth. "**Hound, I hope that's you-holy crap!**" Sheogorath 'said', surprised by the effect of his voice. Well, he didn't say it, and it wasn't really his voice having an effect. More accurately, his thoughts were projected directly to the party he wanted to receive them, in this case Haskill and the Hound of Clavicus Vile. How awesome! Immediately, Sheogorath began projecting thoughts in random directions, oft-times receiving a responsive probe from a curious daedra. There were thousands of them here in the Essence Stream, even in this one little segment. It was the light of their essence that the Mad Prince had seen upon his entry.

"**If you're quite done, I'd like to get underway!**" the Hound exclaimed, also sending a mental image of a lightning strike at the chastised prince.

"**Fine, fine, let's get on then,**" Sheogorath agreed, moving his essence further within the protective umbrella that was the Hound.

Without further discussion, the party was off. The travel was both instantaneous and time consuming. Instantaneous, because their destination was well in sight, even from the beginning, and the group already felt the pull of the powerful daedra there. And the travels would've been made in the blink of an eye outside the Stream. Time-consuming, because time in the Stream flowed much differently, oft-times stopping or moving backwards. Specifically, Sheogorath was conscious of several hims moving throughout the Essence Stream, both ahead and behind them. He wasn't sure at certain points which one was _him_, though technically the answer was all of the above. But that was way to hard to explain. Suffice to say, the group was on their way to the meeting of the daedric princes. Suddenly, they were not alone in the bubble of consciousness that the Hound provided. Two bright spots appeared in Sheogorath's field of vision.

"**Oh my, Clavicus neglected to inform us that it was **_**this**_** mortal that had assumed the Throne of Madness**," sang a sultry, arousing, feminine voice.

"**Yes, this does indeed brighten the outlook of things, doesn't it?**" responded an equally smooth, singsong voice, though masculine, voice.

"**Greetings to you Nephala, Sanguine,**" greeted the Mad Prince, trying to piece together a mental image to convey his gratitude for their support. It ended up as a picture of him kneeling before their respective shrines back in Cyrodil.

Nephala gasped, then giggled in such a way, Sheogorath wondered if she took sexual pleasure in images of submission as a general rule. "**My my Sanguine, this mortal does show a knack for diplomacy, does he not?**"

"**He does at that, my dearest Webspinner. But, will he impress Dagon so easily?**"

At a loss for words with which to respond, the prince ended up sending them an image of Dagon, poised to attack him.

"**Oh my no, he's long forgotten your world,**" Sanguine assured him. "**Though he'll be sore about it to your face. It was never much more than an adolescent fantasy that died hard.**"

"**Growing pains,**" Nephala added, snickering.

Sheogorath sent an image of himself nodding in what he hoped was understanding, then continued on in silence. He continued musing, up until the party reached what appeared to be a great, black drain in the middle of the Essence Stream. The other daedric essences gave this thing a wide birth, though the party continued straight on towards it. Sheogorath noticed a few other bright spots heading into it from different directions, and guessed (correctly) that this was the location of the Etanes. "**We'll see you inside, Mad Prince!**" chirpped Sanguine, as he and Nephala proceeded into the great black thing.

The Hound of Clavicus Vile stopped just short of the epic blackness. "**We're the last ones, it seems. Are you ready?**"

Declining to speak, Sheogorath pushed out of the Hound's protective bubble and slid into darkness.

The first think Sheogorath noticed was a dull ache around his everything. Opening his eyes, he was surprised to see more blackness. "Coulda sworn I ditched that when I left the Essence Stream," he said to himself, pleasantly surprised to hear his own voice. "Does this mean I'm blind?" he asked himself, still getting used to speaking again. Sitting up, the prince tried not to groan. "I wish I had my sight," he mused, rubbing his eyes.

"Sheogorath!" called an eerily familiar voice.

"Ah, Clavicus. Why can't I see you?"

Clavicus Vile immediately appeared, front and center in the Mad Prince's vision. "Better for you, m'Lord? Would you like a tea cake to go along with your vision?"

"Yes please, and some mutton too. And bring the serving wench as well! This ale is much too stale! Ooo, a rhyme! I do so love poetry!"

Clavicus sighed, then disappeared again. "The members appear as they so wish it. None of the others do, and neither do you, apparently. So, do be kind enough to stop talking to yourself, we can all hear you!" he hissed. "Now then, where is… Ah! I see you've brought my hound with you! How kind!" There was a muffled yelp, and then silence.

The very next thing to occur was a great swirling mass of gelatin and tentacles appearing in Sheogorath's vision. Beneath its voice, the mgmdmgmgmrmsmfdmf of whatever else was going on in that gelatin could be heard. Hermaeus Mora spoke, presumably to the entire Etanes. "The final daedric lord has arrived. We may now-"

"I wish to express my concern that we had to wait on a mortal to begin the Etanes!" interrupted a strong,-angry-powerful voice. Immediately, a figure appeared to match the sonorous pipes. A normal human, besides the tail, the body was topped by the head of a dragon. With a goatee, odd that a dragon could grow facial hair. Molag Bal continued his rant, staging "I move that the mortal be eject from the Etanes forthwith, until we can decide whether or not he shall continue as _steward_ of the Realm of Madness." Steward was said in a very condescending context.

"You would debate the fate of my fate, and that of my Realm, without me actually being present? And people think I'm crazy!" Sheogorath shouted, willing himself to be visible in order to stand against the offensive Lord. "Need I remind you that several of your fellow Daedric Princes, including the newly returned Jyggalag, have named me the Prince of Madness?"

"I believe I can speak for myself, Sheogorath," boomed an eerily monotone voice. "However, I must confess my agreement in your opinion, that you should be present to make your case to the Etanes."

"Thank you, Prince Jyggalag," the Mad Prince said, remaining visible.

Hermaeus Mora materialized beside him. "My fellow Princes, you know of our options. What shall be the fate of this mortal? Shall he continue to rule as the Daedric Prince of Madness? Or will the Etanes forge a new path for the Isles?"

"Rest Assured The Shivering Isles Will Be Stable Under His Rule!" sounded a loud, crackling voice, as though just beneath its surface lurked an avalanche of heat and seared rock. Another form appeared beside the two Princes, this one immeasurably larger than both of them. "The mortal has the support of Mehrune's Dagon!" With that, the large, multi-limbed figure vanished.

"Does anyone else wish to voice an opinion?" demanded Hermaeus Mora.

"I find the mortal's entrance onto this scene most… fortuitous," commented a voice, smooth like oiled silk. "Does no one else find it odd that, just as our brother Jyggalag returns from his slumber, we find ourselves not in want of a new ruler, but in possession of an obviously capable, popular, and resourceful individual? Truly it boggles the mind." Another figure came to light, this one moving freely around the darkness, like he was on a stage. Dressed in all black, and sporting a long cape with a bald head and pale skin, this prince was unmistakable.

"You speak in tangles, Boethiah," Sheogorath countered, crossing his arms and stepping forth to meet the Traitorous Prince. "Speak plainly or go away, you make my head ache."

"Fine then, I will speak as you bid. Fellow Princes, this mortal will be the death of us! Already he has removed the head of the Throne of Madness, and seeks to join our ranks. I tell you, he will make war upon us!"

A charming, feminine laugh came from nowhere, and two more figures joined Sheogorath on the stage. Now arrayed against Boethiah stood Sanguine and Nephala. Sanguine carried a large gourd cup, from which he sipped liberaly. His bottom half was goat, down to his human feet. Like Clavicus Vile, his upper half was that of an imp-boy, with sharp teeth, claws, and horns on his head. Nephala was much more human, with long, dark hair, and a shapely body expertly covered by her crimson dress. Her eyes were sky blue, and her skin the color of marble. "My dearest Boethiah, how you call into question the motives of anyone else is quite beyond my ken of understanding! But to be fair, let's examine your claims."

"First, as you well know, Sheogorath and Jyggalag have always fought their battle for dominance, and only recently has Jyggalag won out and returned to his Realm," stated the equally charming Sanguine.

"Second," sang Nephala, "Was it not Jyggalag's own warmongering that made the creation of the Throne of Madness necessary? Why should the Daedric Lords refuse another of their own kind, when he could help tip the balance against another potential aggressor?"

"And if you are right," chided Clavicus Vile from the shadows, "and he does make war upon us, do you fear a mortal's blade?"

At that comment, Boethiah whirled, in a rage. "Show yourself brat! I will make you eat those words!"

"Ooo, mature, attacking a young man," Sheogorath taunted the simmering prince. "How noble of you."

"ENOUGH!" bellowed the silent Mora. "I will not have a row within the Etanes. Now then, we've heard from all sides. Let us call a vote; shall the mortal be recognized as the Daedric Prince of Madness? All in favor, please show your support,"

Several colored lights appeared, hovering silently in the darkness. Quickly counting, Sheogorath came up with ten colored lights in total. Looking to see what Hermaeus Mora would do, he was startled to see he was the only visible one in the darkness. "This is a clear majority in favor of allowing the mortal to continue his reign as Daedric Prince of Madness for the duration of his lifetime."

Nodding stiffly, Sheogorath removed himself from visibility. "My Lord-!" Haskill began to demand almost before Mora had resolved the issue.

"Silence Haskill! Be silent!" Sheogorath hissed, surprising the chamberlain into silence.

The remaining issues in the Etanes were strictly minor, Princes half-heartedly haggling over who's soul belong in eternal torment in which Realm, whether a daedra born from one Lord could serve another unwillingly, and so on. All the passion had left both sides after that first vote, and immediately afterwards the Princes had begun to strategize. After what seemed like hours, Mora called the Etanes to a closing, and the Lords were soon leaving for their respective Realms. Clavicus Vile, Nephala, and Sanguine all traveled silently with Sheogorath for a time through the Essence Stream, eventually each leaving in turn until it was just Clavicus protecting the Mad Prince and Haskill.

"**My Lord I-" Haskill began again, but an image of a wall from Sheogorath stopped him. On approaching their Wellspring, Sheogorath entered first, then Haskill and Clavicus Vile followed. **

**Groaning and opening his eyes, Sheogorath raised himself out of the Wellspring, the glowing substance falling away from him and leaving no drops. His Mazken looked up, seeing their lord after what had been but moments to them, but to him years. He was now truly the Daedric Prince of Madness. And one day, he would die, as all mortals do.**


	10. Chapter 10

**Bros! It's been awhile! I'm sorry, I want to keep writing these stories all day, but I have crappy real life getting in the way again. Damn, I miss spring break already. And summer's not going to be much better, 'cause like I have tons of home-work to do, and it all is meant to keep me apart from my awesome bro's (you guys!) and it frustrates me. **

**All right dudes, I'm gonna refresh your memories here for a bit. If you've been keeping up with the story, you'd know that we just finished doing the Etanes, which was supposed to install Sheogorath as the permanent Daedric Prince of Madness and ruler of his Realm; the Shivering Isles. We accomplished the ruler part, and the prince part, but the permanent and daedric parts have not come to fruition, if you remember as far back as the last chapter! And as always, PM me with your questions!**

**Also I'd like to MAKE SOMETHING CLEAR! I do not, in anyway, subscribe to the opinions offered in the in-game text known as Darkest Darkness, other than the allocation of the daedra to their lords. That is all.**

**A fixture: My brother told me the name was Nephala, and I realized upon playing the game again it was actually Mephala. My mistake.**

**A request: If anyone can tell my if that leafy monster who summons the bears in Cyrodil is indeed a Dryad, or if not, it's name, I'd be very appreciative!**

And, as they say in school; Back to Work!

* * *

Things had changed. Clavicus Vile rotated out with other Daedric Princes, most often Sanguine or Mephala, though on occasion Peryite or Mehrune's Dagon came for a visit. Sheogorath enjoyed the former three's company most, though he was always appreciative of the help the other Daedric Lords lent to his Realm. There certainly were issues to deal with; the Heretic cell was still on the loose out there, and something suspiciously like harassment attacks were occurring with increasing frequency: usually against his Aureal guard. However, if they took Mania's placidity for weakness, the attackers were sorely mistaken. Each attack met determined resistance and saw heavy casualties of the opposing side. No prisoners were taken; the attackers always took their own lives if they became surrounded. According to his Aureal, the attackers had always been commanded by daedra that all resembled one another, suggesting a rival prince was seeking his head. Only once had these daedra been engaged directly The Holy Saint involved reported that the daedra had fought her on equal footing, an impressive feat, even for another daedra. A decription put it towards a Daedroth, however this one was no mere beast, such as the ones Sheogorath could summon. Still, Sheogorath suspected Molag Bal.

Otherwise, his Realm was the same, even improving. Over the months, his pet-dreams, the Ruin and Hunter's guilds had grown to become respected institutions within the Realm of Madness. They both brought in respectable revenue, and donated a sizeable amount to the Throne of Madness. Relmyna, when she wasn't helping the Ruin's guild, reported slow, yet consistent progress on the use of the wild daedra for the defense of the Isles. One report went so far as to say: _while they will never be an organized army, the force we have created thus far suggests potent capabilities in the near future. _Sheogorath was surprised all of his ides were working out so well. He supposed it was all luck, which would soon run out, surely.

Even his idea that the issue of Cylarne should be resolved by his nobles, either at the front of opposing armies, or locked in a meeting room, was panning out. Apparently, after a failed invasion attempt that landed Mind-Bender knee-deep in mud, trudging back to Hale, Mania had agreed with settlement talks with Dementia. Antigone, for her part, did a fantastic job in persuading the Mazken that the leader of Mania should not be killed to death on sight. After several ,no-doubt hostile, meetings, the leaders reached a settlement that left both sides, and Mania and Dementia in general, surprisingly satisfied. On the start of each new year, the daedric army currently in control of Cylarne and the rest of the Isle of Flame would be required to leave by any means necessary. The opposing army could then swarm in and establish control of Cylarne for the year to come, and the cycle would repeat. As an additional incentive to the compromise, the Sacellum Arden-Sul agreed tolerate Sheogorath switching the Flame of Agnon between Mania and Dementia as well, in tandem with the army that currently controlled Cylarne. For example, at the end of this coming year, Cylarne would be abandoned quickly by the Mazken, and just as quickly secured by the Aureal. And the Flame of Agnon would be moved to favor the Manic priest in the Sacellum Arden-Sul. This pleased the priests, who had grown tired of Sheogorath's random switching of the Flame to suit his moods in recent weeks.

The biggest stumbling block, the reason for the supervision of the Daedric Princes, and of the rift that quickly formed between Haskill and Sheogorath, was the issue of Sheogorath's mortality. Haskill did not appreciate being left out of the loop. He had been a trusted servant of Sheogorath for decades, and wished nothing more than to be of assistance. At the very least, Haskill wanted to know what was going on within his home! However, Sheogorath was being especially paranoid about what his plans were for the succession of his throne. Yes, Sheogorath was not a daedra, and would not live forever. As important as it was, he had not confided in Haskill, his most trusted advisor, to seek assistance or counsel in this most grave of issues.

"Don't feel bad Haskill," Clavicus Vile told him at one point, when Sheogorath had gone to bed.

Haskill had turned and sighed softly, before engaging the Daedric Prince in conversation. "My Lord Clavicus Vile, I know not what-"

"Oh come off it you stuffy old fart," taunted Clavicus. "I know you're sore about the secrets with Sheogorath's mortality."

"If he simply told me what was going on, I could advise-"

Clavicus held up his sword to stop the chamberlain. "Haskill, Sheogorath knows you are loyal without question. However, no mortal, not you,, not Sheogorath, can defy a Daedric Lord. He knows that, and wants to keep things that will ruin the future of this Realm from occurring, and that means keeping painful secrets."

Haskill was silent. Finally, more to get answers than anything, Haskill said, "He's mortal." It was not a question.

"Not even the Nine can make a man into a Daedra," Clavicus stated simply. "Sheogorath knew this after my first visit, and has reconciled himself to his eventual death."

"But what will become of us?" demanded Haskill, his emotion breaking through the carefully guarded mask of civility.

"Haskill," Clavicus said. "Do not dare to ask me, or your Lord, how this will come about. But know that your future will be secured, over the spilt blood of many lost lives."

"Y-yes, Lord Clavicus Vile," responded Haskill.

After that, Haskill did his best to help the Mad Prince once again, though they both suspected what the other knew, and Sheogorath always held Haskill at arm's length. Though now, Haskill understood a bit more why.

* * *

One day, while Sheogorath was searching for Mika, Peryite arrived, his scales radiant in the afternoon sun. "My Lord Peryite," Sheogorath greeted the Taskmaster.

"Greetings Sheogorath, my friend. I would speak with you."

"Of course, my friend," the Mad Prince responded, startled. Peryite was amiable enough, but he had never demanded an audience before.

"Thank you. Now then," he began. "As you know, I am the least among the Daedric Princes, even including yourself."

"My Lord please-"

Peryite waved a wing, silencing him. "Do not pretend to deny it Sheogorath, I have seen many times how they ignore me at the Etanes. My power is lesser than theirs, I have known this." At this point Sheogorath simply waited for the Lord to get to his point. "I am sure you have wondered," he continued, "Why it is I aid those that in turn spurn my counsel." In honesty, Sheogorath nodded. He had spent time dwelling on the matter. "Well, Sheogorath, I am no fool. I recognize the signs of war; your homeland was put up for auction, Jyggalag has returned, we've instated a new Daedric Prince. Altogether unprecedented."

"But my Lord Peryite, why support our cause? Surely you're more vulnerable working with us!"

"This is very true, Sheogorath," Peryite admitted. "However, I do not think it matters; yours is the just path."

"How so, Lord Peryite?" Sheogorath wondered aloud.

"The Daedric Princes have always fought each other. However, Jyggalag was the only one to take this fighting beyond simple tricks or matters of honor to the conquering of actual Realms. This is what started the Greymarches, the curse of Sheogorath, and the current madness at the Etanes. Whatever the outcome, the balance must be preserved. The Daedric Princes are meant to keep one another in check, not destroy themselves."

"So you fight on the side that you feel will best keep the balance," Sheogorath finished for him.

"This is so," Peryite agreed.

"My Lord Peryite, I am honored to have you fight with us."

His fellow Daedric Lord laughed, then said "I've never been told that before Sheogorath. Truly, you're fitting of the Throne of Madness."

* * *

Mika, in all of her odd emotional habits, was not in the least happy about Sheogorath's mortality. Being the only Mazken to know, she seemed determined to express the displeasure of each and every one of her sisters and brothers. Most often it was a simple distressed face that prompted the Mad Prince to turn away in shame. Sometimes, however, Mika would prevent her charge from doing anything that she feared would be too strenuous, such as bathing in hot water. "Mika, I walked through the Underdeep with you, I think I can handle some lukewarm water," was his usual response to her odd behavior. Chastened, Mika would usually step back and allow the Mad Prince to do whatever stupid thing he wanted to do

"My Lord," she had said at one point. "What will the Isles do without you?"

"I don't know Mika," Sheogorath in a frustrated voice. "I just don't know."

Seeing she had caused her Lord undue stress, Mika had proceeded to take his mind off of things for awhile. After they were finished, the Mad Prince told his faithful servant that he was headed to a private war council, and that she would be free to tag along. Once dressed, the pair strode of their chambers to the meeting place, again the paradoxical sight of the secret war meeting. Assembled there were the Daedric Princes Sanguine, Clavicus Vile, and Peryite, a spriggan representing the Meridia, and a Dremora Valkynaz representing Mehrunes Dagon. Besides them, Relmyna, Dyus, Haskill, Mind-Bender, Antigone, and the Matriarchs of the Aureal and Mazken, Kakzu and Myre respectively.

"Well then, let's get this party started. Dyus! You're here for a reason! The map, please."

Sighing, Dyus produced a large, cloth map from within his robes. He spread it out on an equally large square table. "As you requested, Sheogorath, the map of Molag Bal's daedric Realm."

"Thank you Dyus. Feel free to ignore us from here on out."

The map was very accurate, detailing the single, large continent that was the Realm of Molag Bal. it appeared to be a single, long strip of land, relatively straight and narrow. The one geological feature besides the coasts were mountains. Sheogorath noticed few city names on the map, and those that were there existed mainly on the eastern parts of the island. "Now then," began the Dremora. "My Lord tells me that the Realm is mostly mountainous, with rocky coasts unsuitable for naval battles. There are three main sections of the continent, which is named Cazarn. The first, westernmost section," the daedra continued, indicating with his finger a particularly rough patch of mountains "contains the slaves. Spriggan, you may take over."

The spriggan, a cross between a woman and a tree, nodded and pointed to the western section. "My Lady Meridia wishes to have this section: it houses Molag's slaves. Not only is their bondage an afront to her ideals of free life, but they also carry his war machine on their backs. The major cities," she indicated each in turn, "will be the focus of her attention." The first city sat on the westernmost point of the continent, the other on a relatively flat area of the map, towards the northeast. "My lady also asks that Sheogorath join her in this fight, and sends her word that no harm will come to him."

"Does this arrangement suit you Sheogorath?" demanded the Dremora

"Yes, of course, I will begin planning immediately," the Mad Prince responded, already studying the westernmost city.

"Now then," continued the war daedra. "Clavicus Vile, Sanguine, and Mephala have all requested to take the center of the continent for themselves." Looking down at the map, Sheogorath made out one main road, spanning the entire length of the middle section of the continent. "This section houses the slave masters and the supplies for Molag's mortal forces. The three main cities," the Valkynaz continued, "will give control over the supply road to whomever holds them." Indeed, the three cities in the mid-section of the continent were spaced evenly between each other, with two lying on opposite ends of the road, and a third smack-dab in the middle.

Clavicus stepped forward. "On behalf of Sanguine and Mephala, who sends her regards to all but could not be present, I request that, once you deem it viable, you send resources to aid us. We may be three Daedric Lords, but our opponent is Molag Bal, and he is experienced at war. We must not underestimate him."

Sheogorath spoke up in his support; "Let's just make it a general rule, that if one of us requires assistance, we must all send what help is available. If one of us fails, we all fail, right?"

The assembly nodded, some more reluctant than others.

"Now then. On to the final section of the continent," pressed the Valkynaz. On the map, the far eastern section appeared to be a maze of sorts, but the map indicated that the maze was all man-made. Odd, to say the least. "This final section is Molag Bal's palace. Located within are his throne, the Wellspring that controls his Daedroth, as well as his elite army of daedra. It is here that Lord Mehrunes Dagon shall make his own assault, accompanied by the Taskmaster.

Peryite dipped his head in acknowledgement, but did not otherwise respond.

"Now, if there are no further questions, the Lords may scatter!" exclaimed the Dremora, vanishing without pausing for a response. Sanguine and Peryite also disappeared, but Clavicus and the Dryad remained.

"Clavicus, I again want to express apprehension concerning this invasion. It all seems much too sudden.

"Sheogorath, imagine it this way," countered the child-prince in a calm voice. "Molag Bal and Jyggalag and their followers are probably planning the exact same thing for one of us. And none of them will be apprehensive."

"But what cause do we have to invade Molag Bal?" demanded the Prince of Madness, a little exasperated. "All this seems a little unnecessary."

"Surely you jest. For one, Meridia has a longstanding grudge against him over the use of slaves. She considers all life to be precious," he began.

"That's a gimmie. What else?"

"Well for the rest of us, Bal was the reason Jyggalag was so powerful. Between their armies, they laid waste to many of our Realms. It's only natural that we return the favor."

"But why am I involved? Surely a war is not the safest place for a mortal," Sheogorath countered reasonably.

"Of course not, but it's necessary. Think of it like this: the best defense is a good offense."

"I see…" Sheogorath responded, beginning to understand. "Just… the pace of all this seems so sudden…"

"Oh, that's mostly for your benefit. Usually a plan for war comes together over a few centuries. The fact that your mortal is a catalyst, be sure of that," Clavicus told him, chuckling.

* * *

Sheogorath was usually kept busy preparing for his imminent war. This usually involved mock-battles between Aureal and Mazken, who were only too happy to oblige. Sheogorath was almost always on the winning side, except for this one time when the Mazken had out numbered the Aureal under his command seven-to-one. Sheogorath was a capably tactician, and knew how to command his troops; anything from defending an area, to capturing a castle, to chasing down enemy scouts, to reconnaissance was under his control. Beyond the basic running of war, the Mad Prince also trained himself in his own martial prowess. These training sessions always involved Mika, and almost always involved her Aureal counter-part, a daedra who's name was Vera. Usually it was the three of them against several summoned enemies, Hunger or Daedroth's mostly. It usually ended up in victory, though that wasn't the point of the exercise. Sheogorath was attempting to practice his new abilities: namely opening a portal or summoning his Grackle familiar. The other two, and sometimes Kakzu and/or Myre joined them, were more worried about defending their distracted charge. Little by little Sheogorath was able to master his summoning ability, and first one, then two, then four, then dozens of portals were released in the span of a few minutes as he grew more adept.

Whenever he wasn't honing his combat skills, Sheogorath was usually with Dyus, asking endless questions about the other Daedric Princes. To his credit, Dyus answered the questions as truthfully as he could. No, Clavicus Vile had never betrayed the Prince of Madness before. And yes, Molag Bal was certain to be prepared for whatever force Sheogorath could muster, however, it would be interesting to see how he would repel the assaults of six other, fully Daedric Princes. Usually, the Prince of Madness left Knifepoint Hollow with more questions: however, that was to be expected when you ask about Daedra.

However slow his progress was, the mortal was preparing for the war to come. And he was filling the throne of the Prince of Madness.

* * *

**Okay bro's! Read and review and don't be afraid to ask questions!**


	11. Chapter 11

Hey cool bros. Short message this time. Just want to remind you all to READ AND REVIEW and PM me with questions! Also, I planned to have both Dagon's and Mephala's conversations about their Daedra, but I just couldn't get into their characters enough. So, some description will have to suffice. **Plot Hole Fix: **I noticed that I named the commanders of the Mazken and Aureal deadra something other than Myre and Kakzu, respectively, earlier in my story. I've made sure to fix the error, and be assured that the leader-matriarch-chiefs are, in fact, Kakzu and Myre.

* * *

Back to work!

"Heave!" ordered the Aureal commander Kakzu to her loyal army of daedra. "We must secure the fortress before nightfall!" A massive piece of timber, a battering ram, was brought up to tear down the door of the bastion that lay before them. The fort consisted of a citadel surrounded by an outside wall and was manned by daedra and atronaches of all sorts. A group of scamps chattered angrily at the Aureal from their perch on the walls and launched fireballs towards the attackers. The targets were not very accepting of the pyro-style-greeting, and bashed the spells away with enchanted shields.

"Start using that ram!" ordered Kakzu angrily, drawing her bow and aiming for a scamp. The arrow burrowed into the scamp's chest, and the startled creature released the fireball it had been preparing into a crowd of its fellows.

The battering ram began hitting the gates with great impatience, and its wielders (several Aureal men) were eager to see the gates open and their job completed. Again and again they struck the gate with their giant log, and slowly it buckled beneath their onslaught.

Just when the gate was on its last legs, a new threat appeared on the castle wall: Storm Atronaches. They launched lightning bolts into the crowded Aureal, who could not block the quick spells fast enough this time. Several heroines were fried, their spirits returning to the Wellspring. "Line up!" ordered Kakzu, and immediately shields were raised in preparation of another arcane volley, the women forming up to defend their only means into the castle.

And suddenly the gate was open! With a wild cry of victory, the jubilant males threw down their burden and drew their maces, rushing into the tower to engage their enemies. "Aureal! We will clear the walls, and leave the courtyard to the men! To me! For Lord Sheogorath!" A great cry rose up from the golden bodies as they flooded into the courtyard. Before them, the men were locked in combat with the Hunger. To their left and right were stairs leading to the walls, where scamps and atronaches were already turning to continue their bombardment.

Kakzu yelled a guttural battle cry and sprinted up the left staircase, smashing open the head of a Storm Atronach with her mace. The ethereal being crumpled before her. Ahead, further up the stairs, two scamps were chittering rapidly. One stood back and cupped its hands to prepare a spell, while the other leapt forward to slash at the commander. Blocking with her shield, then smashing the creature's face in counter-attack, she nailed the stunned creature in the side with her mace, probably shattering its ribcage.

Next the commander swung her arm in an arc and released her mace, watching it fly end-over-end to end up impaled in the second scamp's head. Sprinting forward, Kakzu retrieved her mace (getting a satisfying crunch from the fallen scamp) and continued onward, making it atop the left-most wall. From behind her streamed many Aureal, who systematically engaged and defeated their opponents. The high-ground before her secured, Kakzu looked to the opposing side of the fortress, where the Aureal were mounting the stairs to the wall as their opposition folded.

Suddenly, a high-pitched whine sounded from within the citadel. Kakzu cursed, turning to see Clannfear streaming out of the castle and swarming towards the embattled males, who were still struggling against the Hunger. "To the courtyard! Help the men!" called Kakzu, rushing quickly to the aid of her subordinates. She and other Aureal arrived just in time to prevent the Clannfear from flanking their bretheren, and the battle was joined with fervor.

The Hunger were a major nuisance for the Aureal, who relied on their limitless stamina to carry them forward. The Hunger sapped this strength and used it against them, striking harder and faster than before with each attack. The Clannfear were also resistant to physical damage, so it was hard for them to be killed by a simple mace-in-the-eye.

To their advantage, the Aureal wielded enchanted shields that blocked the Hunger's sapping ability, and their maces held a little extra 'umph' from some draining spells of their own. To be perfectly blunt, both sides were evenly matched. Kakzu struck down many Clannfear, but more continued to stream from the castle. Suddenly, the battlefield dimmed. Looking up, Kakzu saw a moon rise to where the sun had been minutes ago. "Nightfall!" she exclaimed, and a lamenting cry went up. The Aureal were out of time.

From outside the castle came the familiar call of "Ae Tah Mazken!" as more combatants flooded the fortress. The Dark Seducers fell upon their foes with impassioned, frenzied cries, cutting their way through any opposition. Not to be out-done, the Holy Saints raised their own cries and pushed forward, hemming their foes in between themselves and the Mazken.

Kakzu gave a cry of "For Sheogorath!" and rushed forward beyond her lines, wading into the enemy and striking anywhere she saw them, leaving a trail of broken bodies in her wake. Not surprisingly, she met Myre in the middle of the sea of foes, and together they slew many daedra.

The Clannfear, realizing their lines were broken, tried to swarm against the Mazken and get out of the death trap that the citadel had become. But the Mazken raised their shields and weathered the assault, and many Clannfear fell beneath the trampling claws of their brothers.

When the dust had all settled, it was clear that the Aureal had taken on losses, but they regrouped and stood before the doors of the citadel proudly, if tensely, alongside their Mazken sisters. There were no Dark Seducer men, but the group of Aureals that had carried the ram still stood strong, not having lost a single man in the assault.

A round of applause sounded from the direction of the broken gates, and all daedra turned their eyes to see their lord Sheogorath striding towards them, his hands still banging together. "Very good," he praised his armies. "Very good indeed. Relmyna, you may come out now!"

At once the doors opened, and several exhausted-looking acolytes and their leader stepped from the citadel doors. The spellcasters all looked like they had been working hard: their faces were pale and sallow, and several bore the burned hands that came from constant use of Conjuration. "Well, Relmyna, they have you beaten. But I must tell you, the daedra's defense of the fort was top-notch."

"If Mehrunes Dagon or Mephala allowed us to mass-summon their daedra, your armies never would've gotten past the front gate," Relmyna promised, beckoning the Mad Prince forward. Following, Sheogorath entered the castle and observed the main hall. The standard tables and chairs had been cleared, and drawn onto the floor were several dozen large rune circles.

"The basic principle in any summoning ritual is permission. Any daedra resident in the Isles has given its permission to be used for a summon: therefore, we can summon them _en masse_, and have several restrictions for each creature," she described to him, indicating different runes on the circle. "This one indicates that the smartest of the summoned daedra is their leader: this one over here tells them not to attack each other, and this one will tell them to either defend an area, or attack a certain group of people."

"So I assume you don't have permission to summon hundreds of Dremora willy-nilly," Sheogorath surmised.

"Correct my Prince," Relmyna admitted, having been about to spell it out for him herself. "If Mehrunes Dagon or Mephala would allow it, we would surely be able to construct a much-more formidable force."

"You're saying you don't have a force to be reckoned with yet?" Sheogorath demanded, surprised.

"It is incomplete, my lord," Relmyna told him, oddly critical of her own work.

"Well then, I will take up your concerns with Mephala and Mehrunes Dagon, you have my word. Once they see the promise of this, then I'm sure that they will be more than happy to contribute," he assured the assembled conjurers. _Or_, he told himself as he turned to leave the scene of battle, _They will laugh in my face_.

On the way back to New Sheoth, Sheogorath had a chance to speak with both Kakzu and Myre. "Well then, my faithful commanders," he addressed the she-daedra, "that was fun to watch. Who decided to let the Mazken wait until dark before attacking?"

"I did!" exclaimed both war-leaders at once, before turning to glare at one another.

"Now now, the truth please. Where did it start?" asked Sheogorath, ever the peacemaker.

"My lord, it was I who thought of attacking in waves in order to overwhelm our enemies," began Kakzu. "I thought of sending in one set of daedra to weaken them, and then using the others to give the final blow."

"But it was I who thought of attacking at nightfall my lord!" asserted Myre. "The darkness is kind to the Mazken, it hides us from untrained eyes. All the easier to sneak upon the battle and lay waste to our foes," she told him, pride in her eyes.

Sheogorath clapped them both on the shoulder. "My commanders, you have given me a wondrous gift today: hope for victory. If my armies can accomplish this feat on the field of battle thanks to your careful planning, we shall surely be victorious!"

If daedra could have blushed, then both Kakzu and Myre were doing so. They furtively looked into each other's eyes and realized something about the other: together, they had given their lord hope.

* * *

Meridia was the Daedric Prince on duty for protection when Sheogorath returned to his castle. Sighing in satisfaction, the Mad Prince sat heavily in his chair. "If this seat had a hole for my tail, I'd never leave," he admitted to his commanders before waving them off. They turned and went through the doors to their separate domains.

"Well, Meridia, it seems as though we're partners in crime. Shall we dance to celebrate our coming demise? Or should I just wave my staff around like a madman?"

Meridia giggled and shook her head, and she stepped lightly across the throne room to stand next to Sheogorath's throne. "Clavicus Vile tells me you have need of my services," she murmured, looking up to see Mika stepping through the doors that hid Sheogorath's private chambers. Mika gave the beautiful Daedric Prince a shy smile, before padding over to sit on the Mad Prince's lap.

"You could say that," Sheogorath admitted, rubbing his pet daedra's back with one hand. "Did he tell you what was necessary?"

"Oh my yes, of course he did. He's never risk something so sensitive to be said aloud. Rest assured I have your needs in mind," Meridia purred, observing the two lovebirds on their _de facto_ shared throne.

"And what are your thoughts?" Sheogorath inquired, his arms now wrapped firmly around the smiling Mika.

"Normally I wouldn't bother with this sort of thing, but the fact that you're mortal is definitely cause for alarm. Now, I do have a spell in mind, but remember that this is a long-term solution only. Nothing can stop this war from occurring."

Sheogorath nodded. "I'm well aware of that, Meridia. We'll be on the field of battle together very soon. But for now, this will occupy my time."

Meridia nodded, satisfied with his response. "Very well my Lord Sheogorath. Give me your hand."

Taking a moment to steel himself, Sheogorath reached out and grasped Meridia's hand. Immediately he felt a tingle of power flow through him from the contact. His body began to shiver from the energy that was overcoming him. "Accept it, Sheogorath… this is for the best." Slowly, he felt a part of him shift, or change, to become more receiving of Meridia's power. As he took it in, he felt himself being tied to the Daedric Prince's life-stream, the essence of a daedra surrounding him, like when he had gone to the Etanes.

All at once, the flow stopped, like a faucet turned off. Meridia released the Mad Prince's hand and stepped back, gazing silently but curiously at him. Sheogorath examined his hand, flexing it experimentally. Nothing had changed, but it did feel a bit numb after that little experience. "Did it work?" he asked Meridia, not sure what he was supposed to be feeling at this point.

"Only one way to find out, isn't there?" she responded tauntingly.

"I guess you're right. We'll find that out soon enough won't we? Oh well, no use dwelling on the future. Come to bed Mika, I'm sleepy." Stepping off of his throne and sweeping a laughing Mazken off of her feet, the Mad Prince strode into his bedchambers, his tail twirling in expectation.

* * *

Over the next few days, Mephala and Mehrunes Dagon both rotated into the Shivering Isles. The Mad Prince had bothered them both with Relmyna's request: more thrall for her to screw around with. Mephala had mused over the idea before vanishing. She had reappeared later that same day, a curious look on her face. "It is done Sheogorath. You will have your minions." She had not invited further discussion on the matter.

Dagon was a much more complicated matter. He didn't like anyone to begin with, and wasn't too trusting of the mortal who had derailed his latest plans for an invasion of Tamriel, though he had a grudging respect for the man. After his request had been made clear, Dagon had been silent for a moment, then had left the Isles completely. The day had passed without incident, and the following morning saw Peryite waiting in the throne room. The Mad Prince had assumed that Dagon had refused, and that was the end of things. However, during the day's noon-time lunch break, Relmyna had burst into Sheogorath's throne room with an unfamiliar haste. "We have them! We have them!" she screeched, waving her arms about excited.

"What? We have what?" demanded a confused Sheogorath, slurping up his java.

"Xivilai! We have them! I don't know how- It's such a gift! Surely some deity smiled upon us!" Relmyna continued to rant about how awesome it was to have received the aid of the powerful daedra.

"Of course they did you silly woman!" chastised the Mad Prince. "Dagon _is_ their lord and master."

"Yes of course. But how on earth did-? Nevermind, it's not important. I must prepare!" With that, she left in as much of a huff as she had entered, leaving Sheogorath thirsty for more java. So he had some!

Afterwards, Vera, Mika's Aureal counterpart, was sent off to summon Kakzu and Myre for one final briefing. Peryite had brought word from the other allied princes. The invasion was to begin once Sheogorath's first portal was opened on Molag Bal's soil. The Mad Lord wasn't one for putting things off, so he had decided to go for tomorrow, around when he and Mika were finished polishing his sword. And also having sex. So, he was pulling his subordinates together for one last pow-wow before the big event, and then he would rest up. Slowly, his leadership assembled, until Mind-Bender, Antigone, Kakzu, Relmyna, Haskill, and Myre all stood before him.

Sighing and scratching his scaly chin, Sheogorath found himself wishing for a beard. "Well, my friends, and enemies, it's been a confusing adventure, to be sure. And rest assured that this has only been the preamble. I wish I could tell you that everything will be all right, that I'll come back and continue this mad experiment. But… as most of you know by now, I'm mortal." A nod from Peryite told him that the room was secured from eavesdropping. "Mortals don't survive long in war. Especially not a daedric war. So, almost certainly, this is goodbye." The expressions on the audience ranged from false apathy to deep concern, but no one spoke. "Now then, some ground rules until order, or rather, Madness, can be restored. Haskill is still in charge. If an invasion occurs, Relmyna gets to decide who is in charge of what, since she is the entirety of the Isles' defense. Lastly, someone needs to decide how to clear out the Grackle pens. They're starting to smell bad."

His speech done, the small audience sort-of broke up. Kakzu and Myre went to marshall their forces. Relmyna went back to her sanctum to continue work on her army. Mind-Bender and Antigone offered condolences and words of comfort to their Lord, before heading off to rest themselves. Haskill remained, ever the loyal chamberlain. "Well, Haskill, I hope you'll enjoy your new position. Hopefully it won't drive you insane," Sheogorath chided, standing and twitching his tail. "Really need to get a hole put in that chair. Oh well. Come along Mika, we have a busy day tomorrow." Together, they strode into Sheogorath's private chambers, leaving Haskill standing alone before the Throne of Madness.

* * *

Beating wings sounded the approach of Sheogorath, who appeared over the head of his armies, riding his fearsome new pet Grackle to their head. Touching down, the Mad Prince slid off of his badass mount and flexed his fingers, before turning to grin at his assembled armies. "No boring speeches, let's just go conquer our foes so we can get back to killing each other." Amidst the cheers that followed, Sheogorath patted Vera on the shoulder. "You'll be standing next to me for awhile. Make sure to tell me if I smell." The Aureal nodded, readying her mace as well. Mika did the same on his other side.

Sheogorath drew his staff and stuck it into the ground. The eyeball started to rotate, like it was searching for something. Then it suddenly flew straight up from the stick of wood, propelled by some unseen force. Directing its gaze forward, a beam of energy originating from the pupil met an invisible surface, washing over it to reveal an opened, reptilian mouth: complete with sharp teeth and a forked tongue. The eyeball continued to shine its gaze into the gaping maw as Sheogorath stepped inside, into the unknown .

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**Mega battles next chapter! Be sure to have popcorn on demand!**


	12. Chapter 12

Hey Bros! Thanks to all of my lovely reviewers, who now get their responses posted right here! Because I love you all like my real bros! =)

**Mike robot1**: There's lots of things here worth reading, but thank you for thinking I am one of them =)

**GuessWho**: Thank you! I can't find them anymore, so I was pulling names out of hats!

**Connor**: Aw, thanks. I've never come out and said he's an Argonian, to maintain the illusion that he is everyone's character. Because, throughout the Shivering Isles quest line, you're meant to BECOME Sheogorath, whatever you did/were before.

**Reviewer**: I'm more partial to French Toast myself, but brownies are a close third.

**Clown Prince**: Don't worry bro, I'm just happy you're enjoying yourself. And no, Vampirism is not acceptable, seeing as that's Clavicus Vile's territory, not Sheogorath's =)

**Connor-kicks-boulders**: Aww, thanks a bunch! I try my hardest to say things akin to the real Sheogorath. I'm never sure if I'm doing a good job or not, it's nice to be reassured.

**Molag Bal**: Thank you for the correction.

Ok then bro's! This will most likely be my last story update for a very long time. I have to buckle down and get to work, before my ass gets handed to me first quarter. Well, I hope you enjoy this chapter!

As some ancient Mayans used to say to their calendars: BACK TO WORK

* * *

Sheogorath stepped out of his portal and into a stark, barren world that seemed the exact opposite of the site he had just left. Sharp, angled rocks jutted from the earth to mind-boggling heights. The pure white sand that crunched beneath the feet of his armies littered the ground, falling from above almost like snow, dust that was eroded by the howling winds that blew at the tops of the spires.

Sheogorath opened his map and found their location, about a mile-or-so from the nearest city, which sat right on the edge of the continent. "Form up!" he commanded his troops, as the portal closed behind them. "We march west! Kakzu sets the pace! I will fly ahead to scout!" As the Holy Saints got into position, the Mad Prince waved his hand and summoned his grackle. Before he could get on, Mika tugged at his arm, a worried look on her face.

"You'll be careful, won't you my lord?" she asked, soft enough that no one else could hear over the preparations for battle.

Sheogorath nodded, and a smile came to his lips before kissing hers. Without words, he heaved himself onto his mount. The grackle screeched and launched itself into the air, climbing quickly to become level with one of the smaller spire-rocks. The grackle let out its wings to take full advantage of the western-blowing wind, and the pair made quick time moving towards their destination.

Sure enough, Sheogorath spotted a decidedly human settlement below, and guided his mount to a nearby spire. The grackle's claws found easy purchase on the pitted, jagged stone, and they were able to remain undetected and observe their first new addition to Sheogorath's empire. The city was walled, the battlements high and thick, and were probably heavily enchanted as well. Sentries patrolled regularly, and were well armed. Inside was a cluster of houses in a ring around a tall, thick spire that was nearly as tall as the spire Sheogorath was attached to. At it's top was a scaffold, with several bodies hanging from it. "Bal sure knows how to ruin your day," Sheogorath muttered The houses tapered out to form a courtyard around the front gate. "Hmmm, that's odd," he mused to himself, before shrugging the thought away.

The Mad Prince flexed his left hand in preparation for magic, then muttered the spell he used to create the portals for his armies. He had discovered that, if he didn't use the staff to focus and increase the power of the spell, he could keep it firmly in his hand. The white-pink ball of energy swirled in his palm as he brought up to his lips. "Kakzu," he spoke into the sphere.

`` "Yes my lord Sheogorath?" was the unperturbed response: this was not the first time she had experienced this spell.

"I'm above our objective. It looks like a tough nut to crack: we'll need a big hammer," Sheogorath informed his general.

"I will inform our ally," Kakzu assured him. "What will you do, my Lord?"

"I'm going to mess with these sentries for a bit," was his mischievous answer.

"Make your actions quick, my Lord. We are not far from the settlement," Kakzu informed him. Sure enough, Sheogorath could already see her jogging towards the town on the horizon.

"You make good time," he informed her, ending the spell. Patting his mount on the side, he urged it to take wing. "Let's get down there and cause some mayhem," he said, an excited twinkle in his eye. The grackle took wing, and glided silently down to the battlements below. At the proper moment, Sheogorath leapt from its back and landed neatly on the wall, in front of a bow-wielding sentry who unfortunately sprouted a sword in his stomach. "Go make a ruckus," he told his flying friend, who shrieked and flew off, drawing the attention of anyone in the vicinity.

Sheogorath closed his eyes and set the point of his staff into the ground. The eye began swirling as he recited an incantation. As he wove the spell, a heavy mist began to descend onto the settlement, and visibility was quickly reduced to a minimum. The only focal point was his screeching grackle, who flew at will now through the mist. Occasionally, it would find a sentry and spear the unfortunate man with its beak.

Finishing the spell, Sheogorath stood and summoned his enchanted daedric bow, and a quiver-full of fire arrows. Whistling sharply, he started off in one direction around the wall of the fortified city. As he continued to whistle, a figure, with a sword in its hand, appeared in the mist, and whistled back, in a lower note. "Is that you Phyrrus?" the figure, a burly Nord, called into the mist. In response, the Mad Prince knocked an arrow and shot the poor soul through the chest. If the fire didn't roast him, the bow would have finished him, as an enormous amount of strength filled Sheogorath's veins from the draining spell it had.

"I could run around this wall hundreds of times," he spoke into the mist, before trotting off, whistling some more.

* * *

Away from the town, Kakzu and her troops were still making their way through the difficult terrain. The only roads that this place had were barely there, buried under the pitted white sand. "I hope our allies have better luck in the town," Kakzu mumbled to herself. Ahead, she could make out the city, shrouded in mist from her Lord's magic. "Looks like we need to hurry," she mused to herself, before stopping to face the legion of troops behind her. "Double time!" she called. "Sheogorath has started the assault, let's finish it!"

* * *

Myre was further away, leading her force in a roundabout route to the fortified town. Mika stood with her, surveying the terrain before them. "I can see why Molag keeps slaves," Myre said to her, indicating the rocky spires that covered any means of easy passage. The rocks would have been treacherous enough, but tall spires occasionally fell from neck-breaking heights, spawning rock slides and collapses of entire pillars. Life-threatening terrain indeed, but the Mazken had to cross it to reach their destination. "Let's go!" she called, bringing the scattered Dark Seducers together. The warriors formed around their leaders, and one-by-one stepped into the rock jungle.

* * *

_Snort_ He could smell it. _Snort_ There was prey in the high walls. _Snuff_ More were coming. _Snarl_ There would be plenty of food, tonight.

* * *

Sheogorath popped his neck as he recognized the first sentry he had shot dead. "Well, looks like I've been around," he said, straightening his suit. "Oh well, looks like it's time to lift the veil." Raising his arm, he summoned his grackle. The beast materialized beneath its white-pink vortex, body-parts falling from its mouth. "Good scary monster," the Mad Lord praised, patting his mount on the ribs that were poking at the leathery skin.

Next, Sheogorath removed his staff from his pack, and slammed the base into the ground. "Meka Leka High, Meka Hiney Ho!"(lol) he chanted, green energy flowing from his hands and into the eye, which was now swirling rapidly from its perch on the staff. More and more magical power flowed into it, before the eye suddenly stopped, pointed skyward, and the pupil constricted as a beam of green energy flew to the top of the swirling mist and broke upon it, falling down upon the city in a shimmering emerald shower. As the power rained, the magical mist thinned out, until everything was plain to see once again.

Turning to look out from the city, Sheogorath pbserved his army of Holy Saints, which had arrayed itself at the bottom of the wall, out of sight in the mist. "Kakzu!" he called, waving at his Aureal commander. "Come and claim this city for us!"

"As you wish my lord!" came the reply. "LADDERS!" she shouted to her troops, and several wall-scaling devices were quickly propped up onto the wall. The men came up first, as cannon fodder. But there were no sentries on the wall to repel the invaders or sound the alarm. As a result, the town's defenders (still quite a few not dead) had no idea that there was an attack until they spotted enemies swarming down the steps from the walls, with no resistance.

A cry of alarm went up, and almost immediately upon reaching the ground level Kakzu met enemy troops. "They move fast, my Lord!" she called to Sheogorath, who was cutting through the armor of his own opponent.

"They do indeed Kakzu!" he replied, spinning around and using the momentum to decapitate another fighter. "We'll need to move quickly. Grackle!" he called to his mount. On queue, the creature shrieked and descended onto the enemy troops in their path, pecking at them and beating its wings. The defenders cried out in surprise and fear and retreated, which allowed Sheogorath's own soldiers to surge ahead and cut them down. "To the gates!" Sheogorath commanded, sprinting towards the giant oak doors that barred normal entry into the town.

Around the town, the rest of the Aureal were advancing through the streets, cutting down whatever opposition they faced. For the most part, the citizens kept to their homes, fearful of reprisals. However, a few did venture out to catch a glimpse of Sheogorath or the Holy Saints. One Khajit went so far as to say "I _knew_ a mortal was leading them!" As he advanced further, Sheogorath managed to get a look at some of the people who lived in this forsaken place. For the most part, it was Argonians and Khajit who inhabited the town. However, he did glimpse a few Dunmer elves as well. Strange, then, that Nords, Brettons, and Imperials had been the ones he had been slaying thus far. Maybe they were the slave masters? Were these people the workers?

As Sheogorath and his army pushed closer to the gates, the resistance they faced became less organized, before completely dissolving. This was troubling. Sure, the defenders hadn't received adequate warning of any attack, and he had killed off more than a few by surprise, but surely by now everyone in the city knew that it was being taken. And Molag Bal was no slouch in warfare. This sparodic resistance seemed undisciplined, even fear-driven. What could Sheogorath do but advance, and finish off the warriors who remained. Move toward the gates and…

"STOP!" Sheogorath called to his troops. Like machines, they suddenly stood rigid, their weapons out and ready. Opening his palm and summoning another portal, Sheogorath spoke quickly to Vera and Kakzu, who had moved to take command of two other columns of troops within the city. "Do NOT go near the gates, do you hear me? Do NOT go near the gates!"

"But my Lord, we-" began Vera

"Silence Vera! Do not question our Lord!" commanded Kakzu harshly. "My Lord, our troops are stopped. What have you discovered?"

"They're baiting us. They know we have the superior force, and are inside their walls. So they want us to keep advancing, and are putting up pathetic attacks to make it seem like we're winning. They probably have an ambush set up at the gates." Sheogorath stroked his scaly chin. Now that he thought about it, he was sure that this was their plan. Somehow, they felt that an ambush would give them enough of an advantage to repel the attack. The trouble was, he had no way of knowing how their trap would be sprung, so he couldn't counter it. Unless… "Kakzu?" Sheogorath asked, a plan hatching in his mind. "Vera?"

"Yes my Lord?" the both responded.

"How loyal are you?" he asked.

"We are unshakable, my Lord," Kakzu insisted. "We would die for you."

"Oh, I know. But this request is much harder…"

* * *

It was getting late. The enemy force that had penetrated so deeply into his fort was somewhere just beyond his line of sight, he was sure of it. He stood alone, before the gates. His black sword was resting on his shoulder guard, unsheathed and ready for use. He was the Slavemaster of Loudar, the westernmost bastion of civilization on Cazarn. And he was not about to lose his town to an upstart mortal! Speaking of which, there was movement among the hovels before him. A lizard stepped out, clad in an awful suit and wielding an interesting sword. "This must be him," the Slavemaster said aloud. "He'll make a fine pair of gloves."

"Original," Sheogorath retorted, Dawnfang raised at the ready in his left hand. "How about single combat? Or are you afraid to lose to a lizard?" The creature before him, bearing a striking resemblance to Molag Bal, but much smaller, growled and stepped forward. Suddenly, he was right in front of the Mad Prince, who barely had time to raise his sword to block the Slavemaster's blow. The strike sent tremors down his arm, and it was all the Mad Prince could do not to collapse from the force of it. "Weil, this will be dandy," Sheogorath half-complained, his right hand glowing in preparation for conjuration magic.

* * *

Vera and Kakzu hurried along the wall, each heading from their side to the gatehouse, which overlooked the courtyard below. They hurried because Sheogorath was barely holding his own against the monster before him, and it was all they could do not to rush to his aid and fight. As it was, the Mad Prince had summoned his personal daedric armor to ward off his opponent's terrible blows. His shield was bent already, so somehow the thing Sheogorath was fighting could demolish daedric metal with ease.

Knowing they could not help him, the Aureal pressed on, eager to finish their task and aid their Lord. They broke down the doors in their way and entered the gatehouse from opposite sides. Standing in place of a gate winch was a large daedroth, already shaking to shield itself from oncoming attacks. Both Holy Saints groaned, and stepped forward to conquer the new threat. The daedroth turned and swung at Kakzu, who blocked the blow with her shield. Vera swung her mace, but the blow barely dented the creature's scales thanks to its shield. "Great, it's indestructible," she cried.

"Distract it," Kakzu ordered. "I can get in a good hit once, maybe." Vera dutifully swung again, this time nailing it in the ribs, but still doing almost no damage. The daedroth turned to face her, lashing out with its jaws and nearly sniping off her head.

"Anytime now!" she called to Kakzu, ducking below another swipe of its claws. Kakzu was adjusting her shield. Satisfied that the straps were correct, she jumped forward and slammed her buckler into the back of the daedroth's head. The opposing shield spells nullified one another, and the force of the blow cracked its skull. However, the beast still struggled, trying to turn to lash out at Kakzu. In response, the Aureal commander ripped her arm from the shield and slammed down on it with her mace, shattering the daedroth's skull and turning its brain to mush.

"There," Kakzu panted breathlessly, tying her shield back on. Their dead opponent's body shimmered, then vanished. Beneath them, a rumbling sound signaled that the gate mechanism was released, opening the gates. "Well, I guess our work is done," Vera said, turning to hurry outside.

* * *

Sheogorath panted heavily. He couldn't feel his right arm anymore, and he was pretty sure it was broken. Looking at the mangled lump of metal that had been his shield, he sighed and released the spell. At least there wasn't weight on it anymore. "Tired lizard?" the Slavemaster demanded.

"Never," Sheogorath replied stepping forward and cutting upward with his sword, the blow was blocked, and the counterattack jarred his left arm once more. However, Sheogorath very quickly recovered and, using a cheap trick, smacked his opponent's weak side with his tail. When the Slavemaster glanced down, Sheogorath slammed a knee into his chest, knocking the wind out of him. Sensing his advantage, the Mad Prince leapt forward and struck at the creature's head, aiming to kill it.

"Tch, mortals," the Slavemaster commented smugly, stepping to the side and taking the stab through his shoulder. Purple blood dripped from the sword as it went through the wound. While his sword was stuck and Sheogorath defenseless, he swung his own sword and sliced into the Mad Prince's own arm. Had it not been for the thick armor, Sheogorath probably would have lost that arm. As it was, he wouldn't be swinging swords for awhile. He cried out in agony and fell to his knees, screaming in pain as the Slavemaster slowly drew his sword out of the wound. "Stupid lizard," he quipped, placing the dripping blade at his neck.

The sound of the gates opening interrupted the execution. Startled, the Slavemaster spun around to see the bastions sliding open, revealing an army of Mazken under a setting sun. Cries of fury went up when they saw the creature that had harmed their Lord so. Sheogorath, taking advantage of the situation, lashed out with his feet and kicked his opponent in the shin, making him double over. Prince of Madness scrambled forward, towards the waiting daedric army. "Attack!" he cried, watching as the Mazken began to charge toward the now-furious monster behind him. "Myre, Mika, take over for me," he ordered them as they ran past.

"Come Aureal! Avenge our Lord!" cried Vera, vaulting from the gatehouse and landing in front of the Slavemaster, just as Myre and Mika reached him. The Aureal behind the houses raced out of their cover and charged the lone enemy.

"Tch," he muttered, furious at his defeat. He snapped his fingers and vanished, in his place materialized several dozen daedroths, the counter-attack he had planned. All for naught now, they were surrounded and very out-numbered. Still, it was a good way to cover his escape.

After the armies had demolished the daedroth, they regrouped in the courtyard. Both sides had suffered losses by the new enemies, before lightning magic and Kakzu's shield strategy had won the day. The dead bodies were burned, their essences allowed to return to the Essence stream.

Sheogorath was being treated for his wounds by Mika and a Spriggan that had followed the Mazken force, sent by Meridia. His right arm was fractured in three places, but would heal well with magic. His left arm was a bigger issue, but constant healing magic would eventually repair the damage done. It spoke while it healed his left hand, so that he could apply his own healing magic and speed the process. It brought word that the eastern city was demolished, and the slaves freed. Her forces were combing the countryside between their locations for any other troops, and this Slavemaster that he spoke of. Nothing yet.

That night, Sheogorath went to bed in an abandoned hovel, Mika at his side as always. "Mika?" he asked for her.

"Yes, my Lord?' was the soft response.

"It's time, isn't it?" he asked, rubbing her midsection idly.

"Yes, it is," she answered, in a subdued tone.

"You know what we have to do," he told her. "This is for the future."

"Yes…" she choked out, holding back tears. Remarkable, that a daedra could express sadness, or cry. She stood, then turned and kissed his cheeks, her eyes full of sadness and unspent tears. "Goodbye, my Lord Sheogorath… my beloved," she said, crushing a stone that Clavicus Vile had given her and fading into Oblivion.

"Goodbye, my beloved Mika," Sheogorath whispered, feeling hollow inside of himself as he turned over in bed and drifted off.

* * *

**HEY BROS! SORRY ABOUT THE LONG WAIT! AND THE CAPS! BUT THIS WILL BE MY LAST STORY CHAPTER FOR AWHILE! SORRY! I'D LIKE TO THANK EVERYONE WHO ADDED THIS STORY TO THEIR FAVORITES WHILE I WAS WRITING THIS CHAPTER! I KNOW THAT THIS STORY WAS BURRIED, BENEATH OTHERS, AND THAT YOU LOOKED FOR IT AND TOOK THE TIME TO WEED IT FROM THE OTHERS THAT EXIST MEANS A LOT! A few things: don't forget to review! And always PM me with any questions you have!**


	13. Chapter 13

**Hey guys! Be sure to check out my new story, Warrior Queen, in the Mass Effect universe. And remember to review like mad! I'm desperate for feedback!

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Things tended to go wrong in war. A very wise old man had once told Sheogorath, back when he had been just Guardian, that if something can go wrong in a strategy, it most likely will. And this was no exception.

Sheogorath had captured the town and renaimed it Whisk. The day after he had thrown out the curious daedric Slavemaster, he had stormed the stone tower at the center of town. Inside were slave pens filled to a painful brim, torture racks coated with fresh blood, and precarious stairs that seemed designed to trip someone and send them falling to a broken neck related death. At the top of the tower was a landing that looked out over the whole of Whisk. Sheogorath noted several corpses that had been gored through: obviously his pet grackle had taken care of the sentries atop the tower while the whole town was under the fog.

Once above the tower, Sheogorath had a surprisingly keen view of the surrounding area outside the city walls. He considered himself lucky that the sentries had not thought to look up, the direction he had taken to get past the town's defenders. As he turned in circles, he was conscious of a slight distortion in the countryside: the rock spires seemed to part and move as he gazed into the distance. "Alteration magic, I see. Powerful stuff." He made sure Myre and Kakzu knew to post alert sentries on the tower at all times.

The Mad Prince had then gone before the remaining townspeople, curiously consisting mostly of khajit, argonian, and dunmer elves. "Morning," he greeted the huddled mass of people. "I am Sheogorath, Daedric Prince of Madness, among other delightful things. I'm pleased to make your acquaintance." After a moment's thought, he added "Do you have a leader?"

An orc, one of the few he had noticed among the assembled townsfolk, stepped forth to greet the Mad Prince. "Aye! I'm Krogash'Du'Mok! We ain't afraid of ye!"

Sheogorath shrugged. "All right? I'm not too scared of you either. Now that that's out of the way, tell me what I should know about your wonderful little town."

Krogash glanced to one side, hesitating, then spat angrily. "This ain't the first time someone's come and taken the town," he huffed. "Someone always comes in and promises change, then just reorganizes things, picks who becomes slave and master. We're never free!" He waved a hand at the crowd. "The orcs is always slaves! I've lived here all my life as a slave! So I speak for everyone when I say: we don't trust ye!"

Sheogorath shrugged again. "That's fine. But there still need to be some ground rules for our relationship to work."

"Wha-ye- ain't ye gonna shackle us?" It was clear on more than one face that Sheogorath wasn't following normal procedure.

The Mad Prince chuckled. "Not unless you want to be chained up. If that' the case, I know a Visceromancer who would love to have you. But no, I just want to tell you what's what for now, while I'm still around to give some orders to Whisk."

"Who's Whisk?" the orc asked, perturbed that he wasn't about to be imprisoned or beaten. Something was up.

"Why, this is Whisk," Sheogorath explained, gesturing to the town itself. "And you, I guess I can call you Whisk-ites. Or Whiskers? No, only a few of you are cats. Anyways, the point I'm trying to get across is, I'm about to change things, and I wanted to let you know beforehand, so you don't start enslaving each other willy nilly. Understand?"

Krogash nodded, stunned by this man's lack of hostility. "S-sure, I guess…"

"Wonderful! Three things need to be made clear before we're through here. First! No one is a slave anymore. You're all free. Go do what you want, within reason of course. Be thankful for your freedom, don't make me take it away from you for being stupid."

Gasps and cries of bewilderment sprang from the crowd, and they turned to each other excitedly, speaking in rushed tones. "B-but we-" Krogash began, dumbfounded.

"Second!" Sheogorath interrupted, cowing the people into silence. "My army is recruiting. If you'd like to help free more slaves, get back at a former master, or just plain want to make your Realm a better place, just talk to your local Holy Saint," he indicated his loyal Aureal guard Vera," or their blue-ish counter parts, the Dark seducers. They'll be out at nightfall."

Again, the urgent tones rose from the crowd as they discussed this information. "Third and final! Sheogorath shouted, silencing everyone again. Someone has to tell me about that crazy daedra I fought yesterday."

Things had proceeded chaotically from there, much to the Mad Prince's enjoyment. He delighted in confusing the people as to his origins, stating "I know Molag Bal," or "I'm here to conquer Cazarn," sometimes to the same person. Not that it really mattered, people still held him in a sort of reverence.

Whisk was soon bustling as people salvaged everything from the tower, the empty houses, and distributed it to those in need. Which was pretty much everyone. Krogash made a big show of being last in line, implying that he was selfless, or didn't need any help, or something to that effect.

The Aureal reported a great many people interested in everything from enchanting to smithing to advanced scouts. A brave few even volunteered to go into battle with the daedric men. Sheogorath didn't blame them; the women were intimidating.

A few townspeople had come forward with information on Sheogorath's daedric foe. He was apparently one of Bal's elite daedric guards. There was at least one in each major settlement, and army of them protected Molag's palace-maze-thing at the other end of the continent. "…and if you don't mind me saying, Lord Sheogorath," one of the villagers added, looking at him meaningfully, "you lasted longer against him than I thought was possible."

As things quieted down in Whisk, Sheogorath was able to get a better idea of how the rest of the daedric invasion was going. Between Meridia and himself, the western portion of Cazarn was firmly under control. Spriggans and minotaurs roamed the jagged spires, clearing routes for easier passage and planting trees to increase Meridia's power.

As far as his own preparations were concerned, Sheogorath was more than ready. He had two dedicated portals between Cazarn and the Shivering Isles opened in Whisk, allowing revived Aureal, Mazken, and even local wildlife. The people of Whisk were especially concerned about the gnarl, as they had never seen trees before.

Further east, things weren't going so well. Sanguine and Mephala were still engaging Molag Bal's defenders in the westernmost settlement. And Clavicus Vile's assault further up the trade road had vanished entirely, and the mischievous daedric prince was nowhere to be found.

Peryite and Mehrunes Dagon were holding Molag Bal in check, at least. From the reports of the dremora that Sheogorath summoned, none of the dangerous Slavemaster daedra had emerged from the maze-like palace since the invasion had begun. In Sheogorath's mind, it was imperative they use this time to consolidate their position in Cazarn, before Molag Bal could counter-attack.

To that end, he summoned his commanders before his arms were fully healed. "Myre, Kakzu, we're headed east."

Myre immediately began to protest. "My Lord, you're still wounded. We can't-"

"I don't want to hear it," Sheogorath interrupted. "We need to help our allies. Sanguine and Mephala both feel Clavicus Vile's absence, and we need to make up for that."

Kakzu's lip curled in contempt. "He betrays us all with his absence."

Sheogorath shook his head. "Kakzu, Myre, you will understand one day. But for now, know that Clavicus Vile is doing me a personal favor by not being here any longer." That stunned the two daedra, who glanced at each other, genuinely confused.

The Mad Prince sighed. "I suppose I owe you two at least a partial explanation."

"My Lord, you owe us nothi-" Myre protested.

Sheogorath held up his hands. "Silence. It's time I told someone, and the two of you are some of my most trusted vassals." He looked at each of them in turn. "What I am about to say cannot be repeated. I only tell you because you are daedra and therefore safe from my enemies." Both of them nodded, awed into silence by their Lord's trust.

"It all began when I splashed Mika with the fountain of Dementia," he explained. "I spoke with Meridia and Clavicus Vile on the matter." He stroked his scaly chin, his eyes in a far off place. "From what I can tell, Mika sort of… assimilated the essence of Madness into herself when I splashed her with the with the water in the fountain. Sort of like a living soul gem. She is its vessel." The generals nodded, waiting for the Mad Prince to continue.

"No one really understands daedra enough to tell me why it happened, only that it did occur. And the side effects were obvious, as you noticed," he told them, and the generals agreed. Mika had been quite different from the rest of Sheogorath's daedric servants.

"Of course, this was a much smaller issue when compared to my mortality. Clavicus Vile made it perfectly clear, from his first meeting, that I would die, and leave the throne of Madness untended. However, he too noticed Mika's… predicament, and we had a discussion, of sorts, on the options it gave us."

"Options, my Lord?" Myre asked, curious.

Sheogorath shook his head. "Here is where I must stop. I cannot tell you what we have planned, because it is of the utmost importance that it remains safe. All I will say is: Clavicus Vile is keeping Mika perfectly safe, because with her rests the future of Sheogorath."

His generals were silent as they processed the information. "When will this come to pass, my Lord?" Kakzu asked after a few minutes.

The Mad Prince smiled sadly at his Aureal commander. "I won't return to the Shivering Isles in this life. Cazarn is to be my grave."

Myre gasped, then stepped forward to bow before Sheogorath. "My Lord, I speak for both of us when I say that your passing will be mourned. We are honored to fight with you in this war."

He smiled at both of them, touched by Myre's words. "Both of you have shown that my daedra are among the best in this plain of existence. I only hope that my sacrifice proves worthy of your devotion."

* * *

Mika walked slowly through the fields that encompassed the Realm of Clavicus Vile. All around her, large yellow daedra roamed the wide expanses, giving the whole scene the feeling of a large, ethereal pasture. She continued walking, searching for a landmark of some sort, a tree or stump or bush.

"But boring, isn't it?"a voice behind her said cheerfully. Mika spun around, and was surprised to see the Hound of Clavicus Vile standing right behind her. Its tail was wagging.

"Hello Hound," she greeted him, patting his nose and smiling a little. She was grateful to finally have some company.

"Oh, call me Barbas while you're here. It will be so much easier," Barbas told her, rubbing against her leg before starting off, leading her with certainty. "We may as well go see Clavicus Vile. He'll want to know you've arrived."

"It feels like I've been here for months," she told the Hound as they walked.

"The passage of time doesn't really work here," Barbas explained. "You've been here for a little less than a week. Clavicus hasn't been paying attention, so I came to find you myself."

"I see. Thank you Barbas."

"Don't worry about it. You'll get tired of me soon enough," the dog explained. "We're going to be joined at the hip, you and I Metaphorically speaking, anyways. Clavicus wants to be sure you're well looked after."

Mika giggled. "I'm flattered. But I'm already taken."

The Hound laughed, his tail continuing to wag in delight. "Don't get any ideas. Clavicus has perverse notions on lovemaking."

The pair continued to chat as they moved through the empty meadow. Neither really kept track of the time, enjoying each other's company more than they worried about getting somewhere. But after awhile, a figure appeared in the distance that didn't match the silhouette of the large daedra Mika had seen so far.

"We've arrived," Barbas declared, bounding ahead to meet the mysterious figure. Following more slowly, Mika saw Clavicus Vile, sitting on a dead tree stump, his faithful Hound sitting next to him, underneath another dead tree.

"Welcome, honored guest." Clavicus Vile raised Umbra in greeting, but didn't rise from his stump.

Mika smiled and dipped her head in respect. "You honor me, Prince Clavicus Vile."

"Such etiquette. Why can't you be more like her Barbas?" Clavicus Vile complained.

"Because I'm smart enough to know you don't deserve it," the Hound responded, sounding like he was teaching something to a child.

Clavicus sighed, and slid from his stump, then strode forward and grasped Mika's hand. "You and Sheogorath work fast. I had hoped to deal a bit of death on Cazarn before leaving."

Mika would have blushed if she wasn't colored blue. Still, her smile was very embarrased. "We took Coldharbor," she informed him after regaining her composure. Coldharbor was the westernmost section of the continent. "It was cold, barren, and there were lots of rock spires. What was it like in your part of the land?"

Clavicus laughed. "Molag Bal likes to intimidate his mortals. As far as they're concerned, Coldharbor is the only part of Cazarn that exists, because it's where mortals who try to get to him always end up."

"I take it the rest of his lands are much more hospitable," Mika guessed.

"Oh my yes. It's much warmer and fertile on the rest of the continent." Mika considered this silently for a moment, before Clavicus coughed to get her attention. "We're going to need to discuss your stay here. It can't be for good, that won't solve anything."

"Which of you is going to keep watch?" Mika asked.

"Both of us," Barbas answered.

That was a surprise. "Am I in danger of attack?" she asked, looking around like she expected an ambush.

"You never know," Barbas told her. "It's not wise to assume the Daedric Princes are ignorant of people's plans, even if those people are another Daedric Prince or four."

"You're just that important, in the grand scheme of things," Clavicus told her.

Mika nodded. She could understand that. "Well, what's the plan then?"

"As long as we're both with you, it doesn't really matter where we go, what with everyone focused on the war now," Barbas told her.

Clavicus explained further. "Between the two of us, we can get you back here instantly. And nothing short of a direct confrontation with another Daedric Prince, more like three, will be worth coming back here."

Mika nodded, understanding. "So, we're free to travel where we want, and do what we want, so long as we stick together?"

Clavicus nodded. She had the gist of it. "Is there some place you'd rather be?" All this fighting was getting him restless.

"Of course." She turned to Barbas. "We still need to track down those Heretics, don't we?" she asked, referring to the still-unknown group of Heretics that had guessed at Sheogorath's transition and mortality.

Barbas dipped his head. Clavicus licked Umbra in anticipation. "Fishing for souls huh? My kind of adventure."

* * *

Sheogorath led this daedra towards the massive mountains to the east. And, just as Dyus' map had shown, there was a massive gate portal that presumably led further into the continent. Meridia had elected to remain in Coldharbor and keep an eye on things. She gave her word that any Slavemaster that appeared would be dealt with personally. Between the spriggan and gnarl roaming around, the area was looking a lot more green, if still cold. Sheogorath wondered if Molag would ever be able to clear out the Elytra that had already started digging into the soft ground between spires, where no one else could reach.

A signpost next to the portal pointed out west, with the word "Coldharbor" printed in sloppy red paint. Or, Sheogorath supposed, it could be blood. How original. On the other side, pointing directly at the portal, was the word "Myrth," printed in gold. "Says something about who lives there, I'll bet."

Sheogorath turned to face his armies, arrayed behind him in battle formation. Sheogorath was clad in his familiar suit and was carrying his staff. The Aureal were first, arrayed in an arrow formation with Kakzu at the center. On the left, the males were standing shoulder-to-shoulder with the citizens of Whisk who had volunteered to take the fight to Bal's doorstep. Behind them stood the Mazken, centered on Myre, looking like a massive boulder ready to smash the Mad Prince's enemies.

Sheogorath waved Kakzu forward. "Go in ahead. Send a runner back through to tell us what's there."

Kakzu nodded and returned to the head of her army. "Forward Aureal!" she cried, and the answering war calls sounded very intimidating, mostly "Hail Sheogorath!" or "For the Mad God!" with a smattering of "Death to our enemies!" Sheogorath stepped aside to avoid the stampeding army as it rushed through the portal.

"Well that was fun," Sheogorath said cheerfully, walking back to Myre and patting her shoulder.

"They certainly seemed eager," she agreed. "Will you fight with us, my Lord?"

The Mad Prince nodded. "Nothing too fancy though. My arms are still too weak for the shock of anything besides magic."

Myre nodded. "I'd be honored to take Mika's place at your side, my Lord."

Sheogorath smiled. "Myre, I'm not currently available, but I would appreciate your company nonetheless."

Before a response came, the portal flashed and out stepped a khajit, clad in leather armor and wielding a dagger. "The army arrived in the middle of a battle, Mad Lord Sheogorath. Our presence has turned the tide against the forces of Molag Bal."

Sheogorath nodded. "Who is fighting?"

"Mephala and Sanguine are at the head of an army of scamps, Xivilai, and spider daedra. Against them are poorly equipped Imperials, Bretons, and Nords. The real fight, though, is against the Slavemasters and their daedroth pets."

The Mad Prince nodded. "Thank you for the information. Feel free to join in the charge," he added as an afterthought as he jogged past the messenger into the light of the portal. Myre and the rest of the Mazken followed, their cries of ringing of glory in victory and death to their enemies.


	14. Chapter 14

**Happy belated holidays to everyone! I haven't updated in awhile due to various and sundry concerns (new puppies demolished my computer utterly) but here is my gift to you all! As always, review and critique! I'm begging here!

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Sheogorath stepped from the portal into a large clearing. Ringed around it were trees and large houses belonging to whomever was fortunate enough to be in charge. It took him a moment to realize the significance of the trees. The air was much warmer here in Myrth than it had been in Coldharbour. "Interesting," the Mad Prince thought aloud.

Scamps and spider daedra were atop the houses and trees, raining spells into the mortals and daedra arrayed against them. On the ground, Xivilai were tearing through the front ranks of the army, consisting of Nords, Bretons, and Imperials in using little more than iron and leather. The superior daedric forces were demolishing their opponents, but there were two mortals for every one of them. So it would take awhile before the Xivilai could make any progress.

The Aureal and Mazken were falling onto the rear of the enemy force. These were the daedra Molag Bal kept in his service, the daedroth and Slavemasters. The fight for Sheogorath would be much more even, it seemed. Already, fighters on both sides were being cut down. The Mad Prince took up position behind the front line, his hands glowing in preparation for magic. He summoned his grackle, who immediately took off to peck at his master's enemies. "Good creature," he praised with a grin. Seeing a clear shot, he cast a lightning spell at a daedroth. The monster roared in pain as it was incinerated.

Myre stood with him, dutifully serving in Mika's place. Sheogorath smiled at his general as he cast a decay spell. The unfortunate Slavemaster's shield crumbled into dust, and the daedra was struck down by his Dark Seducer opponent. "This is taking too long," he complained. He summoned his staff and started channeling his energy into the eye, storing it for a massive release.

The Mad Prince raised his staff and released a massive wave of energy towards the struggling mass of daedra and mortals. A familiar voice in a Scottish accent shouted "Stop!" All of Molag's forces froze, as if time had ceased to move for them. The Aureal, Mazken, and other daedra weren't frozen, but they were stunned, unsure of what to make of this turn of events.

"Twelve seconds!" the Mad Prince shouted at the top of his lungs. "Do as much damage as you can!" His allies did not waste another moment: swords and spells rained upon the frozen army, cutting it to pieces. Sheogorath held the power in the air, keeping his enemies frozen in place while his allies struck them down. It was a difficult thing: like holding your breath while it was flowing out of your body from every pore. He could keep going for about fifteen seconds in total, before he had to release the spell. Much longer and his life energy would replace the mana as a source of fuel for the spell.

_Three… two… one…_ he counted mentally, before stopping the flow of mana. Immediately, the enemies that had been cut down collapsed, dead but held in place by the spell. The remaining force, a little over half, stumbled around as they struck at enemies that were no longer there, or blocked attacks that weren't coming. "Press the attack! Forward Aureal!" Kakzu shouted, charging into a group of struggling daedroth, her mace raining death.

"The Mad One used his power! Kill him before it comes again!" a Slavemaster ordered. Retaliatory cries rose from the line of Mazken and Aureal, who dared their enemies to try and get past them. They certainly intended to try. Slavemasters bunched and pressed against the line of daedra, creating a bulge as the enemy focused their attack . On their flanks Sheogorath's army struck down many daedroth, summoned from elsewhere to cover the advance of their masters. But the daedra were heedless to these casualties, pressing towards Sheogorath with single-minded determination.

Breathing heavily, Sheogorath began reforming his energy in the staff's eye for another spell. Too slow, he realized. He was tired, and had spent too much mana on the last shot. The line was about to break: there were only three Aureal between the Slavemasters and him. Well, three Aureal and Myre, but he didn't think she'd last long against a tide of daedra who could outmatch him. Just as the last Holy Saint was pushed aside, his grackle descended upon the Slavemasters. His wings beat and he pecked at the daedra trying to kill his master. But instead of turning tail, they retaliated with arrows and spells, forcing the creature to retreat or be struck down.

A dozen Slavemasters rushed forward through the gap they had created, heading straight for Sheogorath. A wry smile crossed his lips as Myre charged forward to meet them. "So, this is how it ends," the Mad Prince said, raising his staff in a futile act of defiance.

* * *

Mika, Barbas, and Clavicus Vile strode confidently through the swamps of Dementia. "So where are we headed Hound?" Clavicus demanded.

"There is an important meeting of Heretics tonight: we're going to be there. Hopefully, someone present will know about these Agitators." They had decided to call the sect of Heretics who knew of Sheogorath's mortality Agitators, distancing them from the run-of-the-mill Heretics.

"Twelve gold says no one knows anything," Clavicus responded, in his usual gambling tone.

"Clavicus, the last time I gambled with you for money, I turned into a khajit for three days," Barbas reminded him, sounding a more than a little sore about it.

Mika giggled at the grumbling Daedric Prince. "I'll pass as well, Lord Clavicus."

After a bit more walking, the group noticed lights in the distance. "We're close," Barbas commented. "Clavicus, do your part."

"Yes yes I'm getting to it," was the sullen response. Lifting Umbra, he slashed the air and cutting a small portal out of nowhere. "Please watch your head," Clavicus told Mika before stepping through the portal and disappearing. Barbas followed, and Mika brought up the rear, with the thin tear in the fabric of the Realm closing behind her.

Mika's new surroundings weren't that different than they had been before. The scenery was still the same, but all the colors were inverted. Red was blue, green was yellow, and so on. "What is this place?" she wondered aloud, hurrying to catch up with Barbas and Clavicus.

"In every castle, there are always side passages people can use to spy on their enemies. This is no different," Clavicus explained, intent now on the group ahead of them. There looked to be thirteen men standing in a loose circle around a bonfire. Their voices were distorted, probably to the odd dimension the were in, but Mika could still make out what they were saying.

"…the Zealots have regained the momentum, thanks to you!" one of the group complained, pointing a finger at another.

"Don't you accuse me of anything!" the accused Heretic countered. "I was told to watch the prisoner, not defend him from a swarm of gnarl!"

"I was quite proud of that one," Barbas snickered.

The men continued to argue and bicker about the war with the Zealots. Clavicus yawned. "Hound, is this what they always do?" he asked, sounding incredibly bored.

"Pretty much. They're not a very productive lot," Barbas answered, sounding equally bored.

"Brothers, brothers, now is not the time to argue," a voice implored from outside the light of the fire. Spinning, the three observers saw a Bosmer striding towards the small camp, his short stature offset by the fear the others exhibited at his presence. He wore a dark-crimson robe and carried a staff of gold with a diamond cap. On his left side crouched a hunger daedra.

"Looks like the head of the snake has shown itself," Clavicus mused aloud, indicating the Bosmer's daedric companion. "Boethia."

The Bosmer continued speaking; "The lizard has left the Throne of Madness empty. Now is the time to strike, not bicker amongst ourselves."

"What do you think we should do?" one of the other Heretics asked.

"My followers can have New Sheoth in chaos inside of a week. Give me that long, then move on Highcross and Deepwallow."

"What about his pet mage?" another demanded. "Her daedra can tear us to pieces."

"Leave her to me," the Bosmer promised. "My master and I can handle whatever she decides to throw at us."

"We should kill them all," Mika insisted, drawing her mace.

"That may not be the best course of action," Barbas told her. "At least now we know their plan. We should follow the Bosmer and his pet, see who they take us to."

"And we can't kill these men anyways," Clavicus put in. "The repercussions could be catastrophic."

The meeting was breaking up now, and the Bosmer turned to walk with his daedra away from the other Heretic leaders. A trained eye could see that he was a little behind the hunger. He probably walked that close to give the illusion of equality to his inferiors. But to Mika and her friends, it was plain to see who was leading whom. "Repercussions?" Mika asked, not understanding.

Clavicus shrugged his small shoulders. "There's repercussions in everything we do. Killing them just happens to bring ones that are catastrophic."

"I don't understand," Mika admitted as they followed the unsuspecting Bosmer.

"Think like this," Barbas instructed. "There is Mania, with its Heretics, and Dementia, with its Zealots."

"But we're in Dementia," Mika reminded him, even more confused now.

"Very true," Barbas agreed. "I guess they figured no one would find them this deep in enemy territory. Anyways; Mania and Dementia are opposed, just like the Heretics and Zealots, and the Aureal and Mazken. Everything here has an opposite force. It's part of the madness."

"Okay…" Mika said, following so far.

"Take out one of the forces, and you could wreck the whole system," Clavicus put in. "Killing those men would undoubtedly cripple the Heretics, and they need to be around to check the Zealots."

"Why do the Zealots need to be checked?" Mika wondered. "Shouldn't they be supported for believing in Sheogorath as… zealously as they do?"

"Sure! If you enjoy reliving the Alessian Order," Barbas agreed sarcastically.

"I don't follow," Mika admitted.

"The Alessian Order was a cult of hyper-religious zealots in Nirn, where your precious Sheogorath is from. They killed anyone who showed the slightest hesitation in worshiping their gods," Clavicus informed her. "The funny part is; where they weren't active, daedra worship flourished."

"Oh… I see," Mika said, subdued.

"If the Zealots here gain complete control, you can bet they wouldn't waste time in enforcing what they consider "proper" religious fervor. If the Heretics become fully in charge, then you'll have insurrection. Best to let them fight each other," Barbas explained. "That's how things work for mortals; they have to have a balance between extremes. It's just, here, that's evident in a very literal, dangerous sense. Hence the insanity."

By now, the Bosmer had fallen further behind the hunger, well and truly a follower. The entire group, the elf and his followers, stepped around bogs and over giant mushroom roots as they made their way west. Before long however, his unseen entourage could make out the destination: the gates of Madness. "Why is he heading into the Fringe?" Mika asked.

"Hound, do you smell that?" Clavicus inquired, seemingly ignoring the Mazken's inquiry.

"Sure do. Quite clever really," Barbas responded.

"What's clever? What do you smell?" Mika demanded, feeling left out.

"It's not so much a smell really," Barbas explained, "more of a tingle in the air. It's coming from a large source of daedric power. The clever part is, it doesn't feel like Boethia. It feels more like…"

"Jyggalag," Mika finished for him. "The only thing I can think of like that in the Fringe is Xeddefen. There is a large obelisk there that Sheogorath shut down when the Greymarch was overtaking the Realm."

"Hound, you incompetent fool!" Clavicus taunted merrily.

"Now now Vile, everyone makes mistakes," came the subdued response.

Mika had that left-out feeling again. "Please help me understand, she begged as they slipped through the giant gates as they closed after the Bosmer. Ahead, the Gatekeeper was silently watching, and it seemed to stare at Mika, Clavicus, and Barbas. "Clever girl, your Relmyna," Barbas praised as they passed the hulking figure.

Still chuckling at his private knowledge, Vila explained; "Even though your precious Sheogorath ended the Greymarch, all of the obelisks had released a lot of power into the air. My faithful servant here overlooked the energy coming from Xeddefen, assuming it was just residual magic that would eventually dissipate."

"And furthermore, it was a mask to keep me from understanding who was really using it: Boethia," Barbas added. "He really is the Daedric Prince of Deception."

"So now that we know all this, what does the obelisk being activated mean?"

"It means," Barbas answered in contained excitement, "that we can kill that Bosmer now."

* * *

The Slavemasters did not stop running as they cut Myre down, sprinting past her to reach the spent Sheogorath. The Mad Prince summoned what little magic power he had managed to build up and channeled it into his staff, pointing it at the nearest daedra. The eye focused and the pupil constricted as a white-hot jet of flame leapt from the staff. The closest Slavemasters were incinerated entirely before they knew what was going on.

But their fellows rushed into the flame head on, fortifying their bodies with magic to withstand the searing inferno. Seeing he wasn't having any effect, Sheogorath ended the flow of mana and brought up his staff. He parried the first blow that came his way easily, hissing furiously at the daedra massed before him as he backed away. They rushed after him, coming from multiple sides. It was all he could do to block their attacks, there was no way to counter or even press forward.

Suddenly, his tail knocked against a presence behind him, and he whirled to knock aside a sword thrust aimed at his spine. He was surrounded. The daedra ringed around him, certain of their victory now. Looking past them, he saw Myre struggling to rise, and his armies battling against hordes of daedroth trying to reach him. His grackle again tried to dive and rescue him, but several of the Slavemasters turned their wrath skyward, firing spells and poisoned arrows at his familiar. The creature was forced higher into the air. He circled, screeching in frustration.

"You have caused much trouble mortal," one of the Slavemasters said, stepping into the circle of his allies to stand before Sheogorath. "My Lord wishes to have your soul, to enslave you for all eternity." He raised a wicked looking axe. "This weapon shall be your prison. You will be just another slave to Molag Bal; a tool to use as he pleases. Regret, for you shall know no peace in your eternal service to your new Lord."

The daedra came forward, and Sheogorath simply didn't have the energy to avoid the blow. He felt drained, countless consecutive spells having drained what energy he had recovered from his last encounter with these terrible foes. He watched the axe fall, feeling fated to die here, just as the sun was fated to rise in and set in Mundus.

From somewhere, a mischievous voice spoke out over the battle. "Seems Sheogorath needs a bit of help. I'll step in, shall I?"

A terse, jaded voice responded with; "I would, lest he die and we lose this war of ours."

A small, horned man wearing an orange vest and carrying a large drinking gourd materialized between Sheogorath and the Slavemaster in mid-blow. He smacked the blow aside easily with his gourd. He looked utterly bored as he gazed around the field of battle, seemingly ignoring his opponent entirely. The daedra hesitated for only a moment, and then swung the axe at the intruder. The smaller man raised his gourd and swatted the blow aside. "Much too tense," he mused, splashing some of the liquid within the gourd onto his foe. The black ooze seeped into the daedra's skin immediately upon contact. The Slavemaster's expression turned blank. The Mad Prince watched the entire affair quietly, well aware of the daedra still behind him.

"Go on then, have some fun!" the man commanded the Slavemaster before him. The daedra seemed to awaken from a trance, then spun around and began hacking at its allies. Two of the startled daedra fell before they knew what was going on. The small man with the gourd laughed as he watched the struggling enemies, splashing some more black liquid onto the whole crowd. "More! This battle is much too drab for my taste!"

The affected Slavemasters fell on one another, a vulgar brawl taking place right before Sheogorath's eyes. "You'll pay for that!" hissed one of the daedra behind him. The Mad Prince stepped to one side to avoid a sweeping sword arc, and hissed angrily back at his treacherous opponent. The remaining three daedra rushed him, determined to finish what they had been commanded to do. However, Sheogorath's new ally had other plans. He pulled Sheogorath back from them and splashed yet more liquid the advancing daedra. This was a different brand, however. Colored bright purple, the concoction sizzled when it struck the Slavemasters. They immediately began writhing and screeching in utter agony, clawing at their faces and arms, anywhere the acid had fallen on them.

"Poor fools," the man with the gourd sighed. He pulled Sheogorath along, stepping around the struggling mass of Slavemasters and moving over to Myre, who was still attempting to stand. "Here, drink this," he ordered, sloshing his gourd to indicate whatever was inside. The Mad Prince nodded when she looked to him for confirmation. She reached out and took the gourd from the small man and tipped it to her lips. Out flowed a dull green substance that seemed to glow as it entered Myre's mouth. She had perhaps a sip before the man snatched his gourd back. He then offered it to Sheogorath. You'd better have some too."

The Mad Prince sipped some of the lambent liquid as well. It tingled in his mouth, and he suddenly felt the urge to continue drinking until the gourd was empty. But it was snatched before he had so much as two sips. The drink's tingle spread throughout his body, seeing into his veins and resonating with his heart and pulse. His energy began to return, and Sheogorath suddenly felt like he could win the entire battle by himself.

"Well, Mad Prince? Shall we get a move on?" the small man demanded, slinging the gourd onto his back and crossing his arms impatiently. "There's much to do yet."

"Of course, my dear Sanguine," Sheogorath responded, for this was surely the Daedric Prince of Decadence and Lust. His fellow Prince smiled and helped Myre to her feet, though she didn't look like she needed any help at the moment. She had a fierce gleam in her eye, like she could fight Molag Bal in single combat and be victorious. She grinned viciously at Sheogorath, and he gestured to the armies still struggling against one another.

The line of Slavemasters had been pushed back after they had breached the Aureal and Mazken to attack Sheogorath. They had run out of Daedroth to summon to their aid, and no mortals remained to protect their rear. They were being squeezed between the Mad Prince's forces on one side, and Mephala and Sanquine's on the other. "Once more if you please, Sheogorath," Sanguine said playfully.

The Mad Prince nodded and raised his staff above and behind him. His arms began to shake with the staff he held as it built up more mana. Sheogorath felt like he could have drawn all the energy in existence into that small eye at the top, but he knew that would be far and away too much, even for a Mad Prince. He cut off the flow of mana and took a step forward, slamming the tip of the staff into the ground. A purple wave of magical power exploded from the point f contact, bathing the entire field of battle in its light. This time, it was Sheogorath's own voice that shouted "STOP!" Immediately, the Slavemasters ceased fighting, moving, even breathing.

This time, however, Sheogorath's allies didn't hesitate.

* * *

Clavicus, Barbas, and Mika stood at the top of a grand staircase, looking down into the atrium housing the headquarters of the Agitators and the grand obelisk they were using to communicate with Boethia. Opposed to the dark-grey glow that it had possessed when Jyggalag was coming to power, now the swirling energy surrounding the giant rock was a sickly green color. "Poison," as Barbas described it.

After disposing of the Bosmer and his hunger superior, the trio had exited the alternate plain and returned to the normal one. Then they had snuck through the various levels of the ruins of Xeddefen to reach the obelisk chamber. A large amount of hunger had roamed the halls, and more than once they had been reduced to cutting their way through to the lower levels. Finally, they had reached the antechamber housing the threat to the Isles. Aside from the glowing obelisk, several other Agitators were present. Most were bowed before the grand obelisk, but some were speaking softly to one another, or sleeping on one of the mats strewn about the room. They all wore the same crimson robes and carried the golden staffs.

"What now?" Mika asked softly, hefting her mace in anticipation for the fighting to come.

"Well now we-" began Barbas, before Clavicus shushed him. Something was coming out of the obelisk.

The structure glowed brighter (and sicklier) and began to spin. As it spun, waves of energy began to coalesce into a tangible form. The obelisk spun faster and faster as more energy came together. Finally, the spinning stopped, and the structure quivered in the air as a form materialized from the ball of power. A massive specimen of a man stepped into view, his cape and armor the color of dried blood. He carried a golden blade in his hand.

"Boethia," Clavicus hissed softly. The Prince of Deception and Plots was here in the Shivering Isles.


	15. Chapter 15

**Hello my awesome reader bros! I am so sorry it's taken me so long to post this chapter. I have a bit of a confession: it's been done for weeks. But I've been searching for a beta worthy of my awesome (shitty) writing skills, and I have finally stumbled upon one! The Great Amymimi has deigned to give my defiled words a once over! I hope you enjoy the new-and-improved Sheogorath's Madness! **

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Yet another town had fallen to Sheogorath's armies. However, this time the Mad Prince had more than a little help in taking it. But now that the fighting was over with, he had to endure a lecture from his fellow Daedric Prince Sanguine over how valuable he really was. "Really, Sheogorath," Sanguine admonished. "I know for a fact you are no battle mage. Did you really need to participate in this fight, weakened as you are?" The two of them were standing in front of the clearing before the portal to Coldharbour. Nearby, Myre, her side bandaged, was speaking to her assembled Mazken troops.

"I am sorry, Sanguine," Sheogorath responded, feeling small and sheepish compared to his powerful ally. "I simply cannot sit on the sidelines while everyone else is dying for me."

This assertion seemed to greatly amuse the Decadent Prince. "Sheogorath, we are the immortal daedra. We have been dying in wars for eons before you arrived. And we will continue to do so for eons after you have left us."

"You are not simply daedra to me!" the Mad Prince insisted defensively. "You are my friends; comrades in arms, and I will help every one of you however I can!"

Again, Sanguine grinned in mirth. "Truly, you are fitting for the throne of Madness, mortal," was his response. "Still, if you wish to risk your life so frivolously, you need a more potent form of protection. No offense," he quickly said to the bristling army of Mazken nearby.

Sheogorath held up his hands for peace between his allies. "Please, I understand your concern, my Prince. I will look into the matter with the utmost urgency," he promised.

Seeming satisfied, Sanguine didn't stay long afterwards. His armies were waiting in the field, after all. He and Mephala were moving ahead to secure a route to the next major town in Myrth. Sheogorath would remain near the portal to Coldharbour for now, and do his best to remove whatever influence Molag Bal had remaining in the area. A clannfear had arrived not long after the battle, bringing a message from the giant maze fortress where Mehrunes Dagon and Peryite were making their assault. Both Sheogorath and Sanguine had been eager to know what was going on further east.

According to the message, which was the first anyone had heard from the two Daedric Princes since the war had commenced, Peryite himself had exited the maze not long after Sheogorath had joined the battle for Myrth. He only said that there was much death inside Bal's palace, but Dagon was unrelenting. They had met Bal himself only once, but it had been he who had forced Peryite to leave the assault to regain his strength.

Sheogorath forced all thoughts of the future out of his mind for the moment, however. Now was the time to focus on current things, like what to do about his new piece of land. This town he renamed Tick, and hoped to Arkay and Talos and any other gods who were listening that these would be as willing as those in Whisk to receive him as a new leader. The mortals that finally filed into the clearing before the portal to Coldharbour were mostly Altmer and Bosmer. However, there were a few Redguards within the crowd as well, including the one Sheogorath assumed was their leader.

"Greetings," the weathered woman called to him clearly. "I am Rhiannon, the formal mayor of this town of-"

"Tick!" Sheogorath announced. "You are now formally renamed to Tick! Enjoy your new selves, and try not to get too much sick of my new town!"

Taken aback a bit, the Redguard quickly recovered herself. "My Lord, you are indeed Sheogorath, as the claims say?"

"Depends on what they say!" he responded, leaning on his staff. "If they call me Sheogorath the Terrible and say that I eat small children alive, well they're not telling the truth. But if they call me Sheogorath the Loving and say I go around hugging trees and kissing unicorn horns, well that's not too accurate either."

"Then which Sheogorath are you? If you indeed are Sheogorath the Mad," she inquired in a patient tone.

The Mad Prince considered the question. "Well, I am indeed Sheogorath. I have this cool staff with an eyeball in the center, and I get to order around these neat daedra," he indicated both in turn. "So, I guess you could say I am Sheogorath the Mad, wielder of pointed objects and master of belligerents."

Rhiannon didn't seem satisfied with this explanation, however. "So, to clarify," she said carefully, keeping her eyes on the Mad Prince to see his reaction clearly, "you're not going to kill us and fertilize the fields with our entrails?"

He shrugged and regarded her curiously. "Not unless you give me good reason. Does the food here taste better with entrails on it? Ooo! Maybe we should see which race makes the best fertilizer! No, wait, I have to be civil to the people," he half-complained, making a disappointed face. Remembering his audience, Sheogorath smiled disarmingly at Rhiannon. "Unless you or anyone gives me good reason, you're free to fertilize the fields at your own discretion. I'm more worried about freeing slaves and killing Molag Bal."

A subtle weight seemed to leave Rhiannon, and she smiled genuinely at her new lord. "And what of us, then? What shall we do while you're rampaging across the countryside?"

"Well you're obviously more organized than the last town I freed. I assume you know how to keep yourselves running properly?" The Redguard nodded, which pleased him. Less work was always preferable to more work. "As far as my plans for the town, I'm going to fortify my position here until my allies call for me. So expect my daedra to be keeping order for the time being, whether you want them them to or not. I'm also going to open a portal to my Realm as well, to get reinforcements and a few other niceties."

Rhiannon nodded along, accepting the information without question. "And will you permit us to aid you in this struggle of yours?"

Sheogorath raised his eyebrow-type-muscle-things in surprise. "It seems to me you were pretty well off under Molag Bal. Why would you want to help me defeat him?"

Even as he was speaking, Sheogorath was conscious of the Redguard and several others in the crowd behind her shaking their heads. "No, Mad Prince," she said, a hint of some emotion in her voice. Frustration? Sadness? He wasn't sure. "We may live in Myrth, but we are still caged. A slightly better cage than you saw in Coldharbour, but a cage nonetheless. Every mortal within this Realm belongs to Molag Bal."

"What do you do?" the Mad Prince asked, curious.

"Whatever is asked of us," was the subdued response.

"Well, why are you here instead of in Coldharbour?" Sheogorath pressed. "Surely you're in higher standing than those we've come across before."

A High Elf stepped forward and coughed loudly before Rhiannon could respond. "Allow me, dear mayor," he urged, staring intently at Sheogorath. Rhiannon nodded and stepped back, allowing the Altmer to come forward. "My Lord, my name is Geyeron. I am in command of the small town militia, and am a powerful sorcerer as well. What you ask is… my area of expertise." A nod from the Mad Prince told him he could continue. "At the end of every age, Molag Bal takes it upon himself to weed out the weak mortals still alive in his Realm, harvesting their souls for his dark purposes. We call this the Harrowing."

Sheogorath dipped his head, accepting the information. It made sense: souls seemed to translate to power for several of the Daedric Princes. Often, Clavicus told him, there were bidding wars at the Etanes over the souls of particularly powerful individuals. At the time, the Mad Prince had wondered if his soul would ever go through a similar process. Geyeron continued; "What determines our standing within his Realm is how many of us he takes. If we fight him, more of us die. He values the cowed, the meek, those who would sacrifice their friends in order to survive. He sees those that do as the greatest servants, the most loyal because they fear him enough to sacrifice all else."

The Mad Prince guessed where this was going. "You fought," he figured aloud. "You went up against a Daedric Prince and suffered for it."

Geyeron nodded. "The more we resisted, the more of us he harvested. Once our will was broken, he relented and allowed those who were still alive to come here. Strictly speaking, we were lucky," he quickly added. "The Dunmer and the Beast Folk, they continued to fight. They called us cowards and true slaves. It wasn't long after the Redguard gave up when the Slavemasters rounded up the Dunmer, Argonians, and Khajiit, and put them in chains. Many died that day."

"And they were taken to Coldharbour?" Sheogorath asked. A nod from Geyeron told him he had hit the mark. "And what of the Orsimer?"

A shadow passed over many faces in the crowd. "They never gave up," Geyeron said simply. "Even in chains, the continued to resist. It was quite a sight, seeing them being dragged through the streets, chanting "Malacath! Malacath!"

The Mad Prince was silent for a moment, processing what he had been told. It seemeds all of these mortals had a vested interest in seeing their leadership change hands. "Well, I guess I can understand your wanting to help me. But what will you do, exactly? I was under the impression that the only people living in Myrth were bankers and merchants. That won't exactly be a big help fighting a war."

Geyeron grinned and spread his hands. Rhiannon and seven others stepped forward to join him. "My Lord," he explained, "as I said, I command the town militia. We are not a large force, but we are very lethal." To prove his point, he raised a glowing hand. A moment later, weapons appeared in the hands of the townspeople standing with him. Rhiannon suddenly looked much more dangerous with a wicked daedric claymore in her hands.

Sheogorath grinned at the Altmer and his companions. "Point taken. Welcome to my army."

* * *

"Run, Mika," Clavicus urged his companion as they raced through the halls of Xeddefen. None of them were about to wait around for Boethia to discover him. None of them wanted to flee the ruins, but the three of them were no match for Boetha and dozens of his minions. Better to flee and prepare for the inevitable attacks when they came than risk a confrontation against the powerful Prince of Plots. So Barbas had explained to Mika when he had stopped her from charging head-on to her demise.

Rounding another corner, Clavicus uttered a spell and incinerated the shambles waiting for them. They still had a ways to go, yet, though theirs was the quickest path. Unless… "Clavicus, wait," Mika called, skidding to a halt. "I have an idea." Without explaining, she spun around and sped back down the dark passage, the Hound and Vile following without a word. But instead of taking to the turn that lead to Boethia, as her companions feared, she picked another passage and sprinted down the corridor. The three of them moved quickly through the ruins, going deeper and deeper underground, even lower than the Grand Obelisk chamber.

"Mika, we aren't going to get out at this rate," Clavicus warned as he glanced about, ready for an ambush. The Mazken didn't heed his advice however, still sprinting through the dark passages, heading deeper into the ruins. Out of nowhere, light flashed across Mika's vision, and she spun on her heel and charged toward the source. The three of them burst into an ancient chamber, with a massive pillar towering above them. Somewhere near the top, a piece of wall or ceiling had fallen away from the main ruin, allowing light into the room.

"There it is," Mika said triumphantly. "Clavicus, can you levitate us out of the chamber through there?"

Focusing his attention on the hole above them, the Gambling Prince shrugged. "If the hole is big enough, I can."

Mika nodded and turned to Barbas. "Hound, do you think you can demolish this pillar?"

Barbas was suddenly aware of the Mazken's plan. "You want me to bring the entire ruin down on their heads, that right?" he asked, already gathering energy for a powerful spell.

The Mazken grinned and nodded. "That's right. Can we do it?"

"Brilliant plan," Clavicus agreed. "Give us a few moments to prepare the spells, then we'll be on our way."

Mika nodded, eager to see the end of this place. It had aided Sheogorath's enemies one time too many. "I'll go keep watch," she offered. There was only the one entrance, and Mika slipped back through it into the darkness. She advanced as far as the joining hallway, and watched from the shadows for signs of life. She didn't have to wait very long. Two hunger daedra) were slinking through the halls, probably drawn by the power her companions were summoning. Before they could sense her presence, she uttered her battle cry and charged.

The first daedra she took on her shield, lifting it off of its spindly limbs and slamming it against the wall at its back. It gasped involuntarily in pain and lashed its tongue, catching her in the arm. Mika hissed in pain as if cut by a sword. She felt power leaving her from the wound, and knew she would have to finish this fight quickly. Still holding the first hunger between the wall and her shield, she turned and swung at the remaining daedra with her mace. But by now she had lost the element of surprise, and her opponent had recovered enough to dodge her blow. Before she could recover, it danced in and swiped at her with its claws. Mika caught the blow on her gauntlet, then kicked out at the daedra in retaliation. The attack landed solidly in its chest, pushing it back and allowing her a moment's reprieve.

The Mazken warrior turned back to the hunger she still had pinned and shoved, eliciting a crack and screech of pain from the daedra. Then suddenly, she released the pressure and stepped aside. The creature fell forward, the sudden change in forces taking it by surprise. Mika didn't give it a chance to recover. She whipped her mace around and caved in its head. The hunger died with a pathetic gurgle, and its body slumped to the floor. Using her swing's momentum, Mika spun and faced the other daedra.

They regarded each other warily, neither willing to make the first move. Suddenly, the Mazken was aware of another presence behind her. Quickly ducking, she narrowly avoided another hunger's flying leap. Missing its intended target, the daedra barreled into its fellow, and they were carried backwards into another wall. They struggled there, trying to disentangle their lanky limbs from one another. Mika didn't intend to let them. She sped toward them and brought her mace down on the shifting mass of hunger. She smashed them again and again, not stopping until there was no movement in the entire corridor besides her rising and falling limb. With a grimace, she shook the gore from her mace. The pulpy mess before her didn't really resemble any living thing anymore. She turned and made her way back towards the giant pillar.

"Having fun?" Clavicus Vile asked with a stern look.

Mika shrugged. "It was just some hunger."

Barbas coughed for her attention. "Mika, if you were to die and head back to the wellspring, you know what would happen to your ch-"

"Silence, Hound!" Clavicus ordered sharply. "Do not speak another word! What if Boethia is listening?"

"What if I am?" an arrogant voice inquired. From the shadows behind her, Boethia stepped into the light of the chamber. Mika spun to face the threat, and her eyes grew wide when she saw who it was. She hastily retreated to stand behind Barbas and Clavicus Vile. The two of them moved closer together, taking a defensive posture against the Prince of Plots. Boethia, for his part, appeared unconcerned. He continued to speak as he strode confidently into the room. "Please, do continue, Hound. I'm sure we'd all like to know why you've decided to defend this Mazken whore."

Mika's lips curled into a defiant sneer of disdain. "You do not scare me, Boethia. My Lord is one thousand times the warrior you will ever be."

Boethia stopped then and stared curiously at her. "My my. I've never seen a lesser daedra forget her place so erroneously. Whatever he has done to you, it seems it is up to me to correct the problem." His voice was pleasant enough, but the implications were decidedly threatening. To reinforce his point, he raised a gauntleted hand, an orb of pure energy forming in his palm. "I give you this chance to leave Clavicus. Don't you think you've overstayed your welcome in the Mad Prince's Realm?"

Ignoring his fellow Prince, Clavicus turned to Barbas, an impatient look on his face. "I'm waiting, Hound."

"Oh! Right, I waiting to see if you were ready," Barbas responded, padding forward to stand alone before Boethia. The warrior regarded his opponent cooly, his palm still glowing. "Here goes…"

All at once, lightning struck the Hound of Clavicus Vile. For an instant the energy was focused on him, and he shown brilliantly in the half-light of the chamber. Then, miraculously, the bolt leapt from him and lanced toward a single point: Boethia. With near-impossible speed, the Daedric Prince met the attack with his glowing palm. With a grunt of surprise, he was forced back as the lightning continued to radiate against his hand. With a cry of effort, Boethia threw the spell back, sending it screeching towards Mika.

Time seemed to slow to a crawl. Too late, Mika began to raise her shield, knowing that even if she did, the enchantments weren't strong enough to repel the blast of energy. Her death would be the death-knell for the Isles, she knew it. Unbidden, her time with her Lord began to flash before her eyes. All she wanted now was to see him, just one last time. Suddenly, in the same instant that the lightning should've struck her, she found she was rising from the ground. Below her, the spell screamed past her feet and struck the pillar. Most of the solid stone was incinerated, and what was left began to crumble and fall.

A moment later, the ruin began shaking as its main support vanished. As Clavicus' spell carried them all higher, he had to maneuver them around several pieces of debris. Looking down, Mika spotted Boethia staring up at them, his rage plain on his face. Silently, Mika urged Vile to carry them faster. Up they went, towards the widening source of light. All around them, Xeddefen crumbled, dust and falling masonry thick in the air. And then they were out, soaring through the air above the Gates of Madness.

Clavicus set them down before the Gatekeeper, and then gazed about the scenery like he expected Boethia to suddenly appear behind them. "Well, Hound, I'm glad you've got our charge's safety so well in hand."

"I do apologize, Mika," Barbas said, clearly repentant for his role in her near-death. "I didn't expect him to throw it so accurately. Teach me to underestimate a daedric prince."

"It's all right, Barbas," Mika said, patting his head. "But now, we need a plan. I don't suppose the cave-in will hold them back for very long?"

"Doubtful," Clavicus agreed. "We need to move fast. The Isles are invaded."

* * *

**Now that you've read my free mind-excrement, the least you could do is tell me how I'm doing. Review!**


	16. Chapter 16

**Yes, yes, I know my friends, I have much to answer for. I am so sorry, so very, very sorry for not updating in over two months. But it's summer! The time of relaxation, happiness, and tasty treats! And this chapter is nearly double my usual update, so I hope you can all forget my lack of diligence and enjoy the gift I bring you now as an apology! I want to thank my reviewers Dyntura, hooded mage, and Jack b for being consistent, and I hope you will review this next chapter as well. As always, my special thanks go to Amymimi for being the worlds best beta (she pretends that she does nothing) and putting up with me sending her stories during her busiest days =) So now, without further ado, I present Chapter 16**

* * *

In a tent erected near the portal between Coldharbour and Myrth, Sheogorath listened in stunned silence to the speaker before him. It was Barbas, come from the Isles to what was left of Bal's domain to deliver grave news: the Realm of Madness was under attack. The Mad Prince's first instinct had been to rush home and demolish whatever army had been fool enough to enter his domain. But Barbas had cautioned him that this wasn't the best course of action. "Your place is here, Sheogorath. Bal is the greater threat to our plan. Don't worry, Clavicus is as devious as Boethia, and you have that Visceromaner to manage your armies."

"And Mika?" Sheogorath demanded.

"Right now she's with Relmyna and Haskill in your throne room, along with Antigone and Mind-Bender and their personal guards. That should be enough to stop any threat long enough for me to return."

The Mad Prince gritted his teeth as he mulled over the situation. As much as he hated to admit it, Barbas was correct. The plan had to go on. "Thank you Barbas," he finally said. "Please return to Mika's side quickly." The Hound dipped his head and vanished in a puff of golden smoke. The Mad Prince turned and strode confidently out of the tent. "Geyeron! Are your men ready?"

"They are, my Lord," the Altmer responded, falling into step beside him as they moved through Tick. "Do you have a plan for our next assault?"

"Of course!" was the jubilant response. "Let's find Myre and Kakzu and get cracking."

"And what of the new arrivals?" Geyeron asked. "Will they have a role to play?"

"Of course! Relmyna's present won't go to waste."

* * *

Barbas appeared suddenly in New Sheoth's throne room, surprising its occupants. Relmyna reacted by summoning a large group of flesh atronaches to stand between the perceived threat and Mika, who sat uncomfortably on Sheogorath's throne. Surrounding her were over two-dozen Mazken and Aureal, the personal guards of the royal houses. All had their weapons drawn and were crouched, ready to strike.

"Whoa! It's only me!" the Hound said quickly, backing from the Visceromancer's conjurations. After a few tense moments, Relmyna relaxed and released her spell, sending her creations back from whence they had come. "My apologies, Barbas," she called from her spot next to Mika. "One can never be too sure."

"Very true, very true," Barbas responded, relaxed as well now that he wasn't about to fight a hoard of daedra.

"Is my Lord returning to the Isles?" Mika asked, quickly jumping to her feet. The worry was plain on her face: she was taking this whole ordeal quite hard. Her home was invaded: the ancient, ingrained bond between her people and the Isles was aching for a chance to strike at her foes. And beyond that, Mika couldn't help but feel that she was betraying Sheogorath, the man she cared for, by allowing Boethia to rampage across the Realm at will. Absently, she rubbed her lower belly, where the orange splotches seemed to be migrating.

"I'm afraid not," the Hound replied, sounding genuinely apologetic about it. "I convinced him that continuing to fight Molag Bal was in his best interest."

"O-oh… I see," Mika said simply, sliding back down into the throne. She had know that the idea was bad, probably dangerous for the future of the Isles themselves, but still she had held out hope that Sheogorath would forego reason and rush to be at her side once again. He was mad, after all. Sighing, the Mazken sunk further into her chair, wishing she were anywhere else, so long as the Mad Prince were with her once more.

"Where does this leave us?" Antigone asked. Her skin-tight dress was discarded in lieu of full madness armor. The wicked mace at her side was within easy reach, and she carried herself confidently in the battle dress.

Dyus, the chamberlain of Order, stepped forward with a large map of the Isles in his hands. He spread it over the floor of the throne room, then stepped onto it in his bare feet as he indicated the westernmost portion of the map. "Boethia and those loyal to him have moved into the Fringe. Vile and Barbas were able to warn the locals, and now they are all safely in New Sheoth." Dyus turned and strode towards the capital. "Most everyone in the Isles has been evacuated here. With Clavicus Vile's recommendation, we've doubled Holy Saint and Dark Seducer patrols to make sure no spies have infiltrated the city."

"What of the Wellsprings?" Mind-Bender asked. He was dressed similar to his counterpart Antigone: bedizened in amber armor, with spiked gauntlets in lieu of a blade, mace, or hammer. On his back was a monster of a longbow, also crafted from the amber found in the deep root tunnels.

Dyus turned and strode toward Pinnacle Rock. "Both the Mazken and Aureal have their respective Wellsprings under heavy guard. Attacking them would be suicide, even for a Daedric Prince."

"And Cylarne?" the Kajhiit pressed.

"Between their fortresses, New Sheoth, and your Lord's armies, Cylarne's garrison has slowly been whittled away. But those left are supported by Clavicus Vile himself."

"And what do we know of the enemy?" Haskill, still in his chamberlain's robes, mused aloud. "What have they brought against us?"

Dyus moved back to the Fringe, where he had said Boethia was waiting. "The Heretics have flocked to him, as have the indigenous Hunger. And if what Mika's group has told me is correct, it seems that Boethia has been sharing a bit of arcane knowledge with several of his followers. Mortals normally wouldn't have been able to use an Obelisk to summon anything other than Jyggalag. We can only assume that he didn't stop there: be ready for some exceedingly powerful combat magic as well."

"But what will they do?" Relmyna demanded. "That is the most important question!"

A banging at the doors forestalled Dyus' answer. Two Aureal broke away from the group surrounding Mika to open them. In rushed a bloody Nord, clad in furs and sporting the shattered remains of a longbow. "I seen 'em! Those heretics were movin' through the woods west o' here! Commin' east!"

"I guess that answers that question," Barbas said in the stunned silence that followed.

* * *

Sheogorath kept his head down as the wind whipped past. Far below, their target loomed on the horizon. "Keep left! They have mages watching the gates!" Sheogorath called to the men and women behind him. The entire group of grackle-mounted warriors banked to the left, avoiding the brightly lit skies over the city beneath them. Geyeron's militia from Tick had volunteered for this mission. Among the reinforcements that had come through the portals back in Whisk had been a half dozen grackles. Now Sheogorath wouldn't be alone on his daring, borderline suicidal aerial raids.

The entire group banked back to the right after they passed over the city's massive gates, and then dropped lower into the night sky. They were directly above the city now. Below them, torches and lanterns burned brightly, illuminating their objective quite nicely. Sheogorath stopped his grackle, hovering in midair as the rest of his merry band met up with him. There were seven of them in all: Geyeron, a master battlemage, Rhiannon, an elegant swordswoman, Malorin, Gerelin, and Faolin, three Bosmer archers, and Cesare, a Redguard with a massive hammer on his back.

"Right! The army will be here at first light! We have until then to pick off anyone we can who looks important. Once the main force shows up, we'll move towards the gates and get them open." Sheogorath looked each of his men in the eyes, then lifted his staff and murmured an incantation. The entire group became indistinct shadows, indistinguishable from the night around them.

* * *

Iin the city below, a group of Imperials stood vigil atop one of the taller buildings. Their bows were out and arrows were notched at the ready. "Levidus says the Usurper is marching here with his armies as we speak," one said to break the silence.

"Be quiet, Serennus!" another ordered. "Do you want that lizard to sneak up on you while you're blabbering and turn us all mad?"

"Is it true what they say?" a third asked without turning to look around. "Does he really boil your blood for his soup?" His comrades were silent, so the sentinel assumed that they had returned to watching the skies. But a few moments later, a sound behind him caused the sentry to spin around, his bow up and drawn. He didn't comprehend the sight before him at first. It looked like the other men who had been on watch with him were now dead from various means. But they had just been speaking a second ago…

The sound had come from an Argonian, who was picking his way towards the stunned, though still armed, Imperial. He wore a strange suit, and carried an even stranger staff. "Actually," the man said, sounding casual even though he was surrounded by death and threatened by an arrow through the face, "I prefer no blood in my soup. It's too thick, takes away from the other ingredients. It's best used as a catalyst for when you're making mortar for pavement."

"Sh-Sheogorath?" the sentinel stuttered, still off balance at the sudden change in circumstances.

The Argonian spread his arms and grinned, revealing his sharp teeth. "The one and only! Now put that bow down, or my friend will get the wrong idea." Suddenly, a very large, very angry Redguard, wielding a gore-covered war hammer, appeared next to the Imperial. Startled, the sentry turned to shoot the brute of a man, but the bow was swatted from his grasp with a brush of the Redguard's hand.

Sheogorath decided to take pity on the poor fool. "Okay, that's enough, Cesare. He's no threat anymore." The massive Redguard nodded and retreated back into the shadows, leaving only the Mad Prince and his captive visible on the roof. "Now then, since I have your attention, will you be so kind as to tell me where I can find someone important? It doesn't really matter who, so long as killing them will help me take over this city"

The Imperial was casting his eyes around, searching furiously for the man called Cesare, or any other assailant on the roof that he couldn't see. Sheogorath didn't doubt that he was unsuccessful. "I-I don't want to die…" he finally pleaded, returning his now thoroughly terrified gaze back to the Argonian.

Sheogorath nodded in an understanding manner. "I know, but I can't take the risk of you alerting anyone. All I can give you is the promise of a quick death, instead of being tortured by Molag Bal for failing to kill me."

The sentry's expression became one of despair. "I was only doing what I was told," he pleaded.

"I am aware," the Mad Prince responded solemnly. "But the fact remains that our mission is too important for a risk like yours. So either speak up and die, or be silent, and I'll hand you over to Bal personally." Indecision wracked the poor man's features. Sheogorath decided to give him one final push. "I'm sure you are aware of what Bal does to people who fail him. Is that how you want to spend eternity?"

A look of pure terror crossed the Imperial's features for a moment, replaced an instant later by one of grim resignation. "All right; I'll tell you what I know." The next few minutes were a flurry of activity in the shadows atop the building. As their captive told Sheogorath about the city's fortifications, Geyeron and Rhiannon were comparing his words to what they already knew. There were powerful mages reinforcing the front gates, a very large, well trained and equipped army of Imperials ready to defend the western half of the city. The city itself was divided by a large body of water, broken only by a single island in the center no more than 50 meters long in any direction. A bridge spanned from one side of the city to the island, then from there to the other side of the lake. It was apparently the only way to cross other than flying over it.

Finally, he gave the locations of the officer camps in the city. "There are three," he explained. "One is on the northern bank of the lake, another is in a spire tower in the southern part of the city, and the last, is housed in the Templo Shambahan in the center of the city."

The Mad Prince nodded to himself as his captive stopped speaking. "Well, it looks like you're done," he said, clapping the man on the shoulder. "Last words?" he asked amicably. When the sentry shook his head, Sheogorath grinned at him, then shoved hard, sending the surprised sentry off the edge of the tower. The Imperial's terrified screams abruptly ended when he hit the ground far below. "Now then," Sheogorath said into the darkness. "We need to move quickly. Geyeron, Malorin, and Cesare will move on the northern camp. Faolin, Rhiannon and I will take the southern tower. Gerelin, that leaves you to scout this 'Templo Shambahan' in the city's center. We'll meet up with you before first light. Everyone remember the signal." With that, the Mad Prince stepped over the edge of the building and fell into shadow once more.

* * *

The officer's camp at the lake's shore was little more than a few tents surrounded by magic-fueled lanterns and a few guardsmen. Sheogorath's men were in cover on top of a building not 20 feet away. It was a shame no one had thought to post sentries further away than the lights of the camp, to prevent saboteurs like them from gaining such an advantageous vantage point. As it was, the lanterns prevented the sentries from seeing anything except what was right in front of them.

Geyeron first destroyed those magical sources of light from afar, drowning the tents in darkness. Then he murmured the incantation for night vision, allowing himself and his companions to see the stumbling guards clearly. "Malorin, Cesare, go!" he ordered in a whisper. Two almost indistinguishable shadows flickered on the edges of the battlemages' vision, and then were gone.

Well placed arrows began hissing through the air, finding the necks of several guards and dispatching them with little more than a gurgle of pain as evidence. The guard's cries of alarm and confusion at the sudden darkness hid the sounds of approaching booted feet, and the absence of light obscured the shadow that slipped into one of the tents. And no one was alarmed at the soft, wet crunch of metal on bone as one of the sleeping officers was quietly brained like a melon with a mallet.

This process continued for several minutes: Cesare moving from tent to tent and dispatching everyone inside as Malorin cleared the way for him by silently dispatching the guards with arrows. There was only one tent left to clear, and few enough guards to defend it, when someone in the camp finally found a light and illuminated the dead bodies shot with arrows. Cries of alarm went up, and Cesare hurried into the remaining tent as the few guards left spread to check their charges. "They're all dead!" one shouted from his tent. "Here too! Smashed with a hammer!" another added.

Then a cry of surprise and a shriek of pain came from Cesare's tent. All of the guards rushed to secure it, but arrows began raining down on them from somewhere. "Scatter!" someone shouted, but it was too little too late. Only a few guards were still alive, and these were beginning to be seized by fear and panic. Two were shot through the back by the hidden archer, while another was suddenly sent flying from a hammer-blow to the chest. The remaining guards tried to run, but they were incinerated by a fire spell that came from nowhere.

The final magical lantern was extinguished, and three shadows slipped away from the carnage as the fire from the spell began spreading to the rest of the camp.

* * *

Sheogorath gripped his grackle tighter as it circled the tower. Rhiannon and Faolin were below, staking out the main door into the tower to be sure no one escaped. The Mad Prince had insisted he go in alone. "Because I've learned to move silently from the very best," he had explained to an uncompromising Rhiannon. "If we storm the entrance, then we run the risk of people escaping in a way we don't expect. This way, if I'm discovered, anyone trying to flee will most likely run _down_, straight into you and your friend with the pointed sticks!"

The Redguard had reluctantly agreed, and she had followed Faolin down to find a hiding place. That left Sheogorath alone, searching the top of the spire for a way in. After circling for what felt like the thousandth time, he found what he was looking for. It looked like an air hole drilled into the obsidian that the tower was built from. It was probably there to make sure the upper parts of the tower were ventilated in case of fire or overcrowding. What the Mad Prince found promising was its size: it was more than big enough for him to slip inside.

"Get a little closer," he told his mount, indicating the opening. Silently, the grackle flapped towards the hole. Sheogorath clamored inside, casting a night vision spell on himself to see where it led. Seeing that the hole ended up opening into a room, he turned and waved his mount away. "Find a roost. I'll bring you back when I need you," he said. The grackle turned and flew off without a sound. Now all alone, Sheogorath moved down the hole and slipped quietly into the opening at the far end.

The Mad Prince fell for a few yards before landing on a hard stone floor. Without moving from his crouched position, he glanced around, night vision and life-detect spells giving him a clear view in the darkness. He wasn't alone, but the other source of life in the room wasn't moving. It looked like he was in some sort of storage area, with boxes and sacks taking up most of the space. The Mad Prince's fellow occupant was in a walled off enclosure, the only entrance blocked by a thick metal door. Sheogorath raised an eyebrow at the small, dim glow of life he could see inside the cell. What could be so dangerous, he wondered.

Curiosity getting the better of him, the Mad Prince made his way to the door and made short work of its lock. Praying to Arkay for luck, he eased it open, wincing at the squeaks the hinges made, and then slipped inside when the gap was wide enough. He had to stop himself from gasping aloud at what he saw inside. The walls were covered with spikes, which were in turn covered in dried blood. The stench was nearly unbearable. In the middle of the tiny space not invaded by the spikes lay a young Dunmer girl, huddled in a ball on the floor. She was dressed in filthy rags, and her skin was covered in open cuts and sores. Her eyes were closed, but her breathing was ragged and her movements fitful. Combined with the perspiration on her forehead, the Mad Prince guessed she was suffering from a severe fever.

His moral fiber outraged, Sheogorath made the decision to help the tortured girl. He pulled her into his arms and carried her from the gore-covered room. He then laid her on one of the wooden boxes and proceeded to ransack the rest of the crates. He made a pile of the straw padding most of them contained, covered with layers of dyed cotton cloth he had discovered. He then set the girl gently onto this makeshift bed and went to work. First he healed her cuts and sores, laying hands glowing a soft blue onto her skin wherever it was blemished. Her injuries were mostly superficial and wouldn't leave any scars, but a gruesome cut along her chest, starting just below the left shoulder and traveling down and across her chest to end on her right side, above the thigh, would take more than just healing magic to repair.

Next, the Mad Prince summoned his staff and prepared a spell to cure whatever illness the girl possessed. The magic collected in the staff's eye, turning it into a brightly glowing ball of energy. He touched this to the girl's forehead and released the magic, watching it dance along her skin and sink into her, burning away any sickness within. The girl's face visibly relaxed, as did her breathing. Her fitful movements subsided as well. Sheogorath was about to breathe a sigh of relief when her eyes opened.

There were two things about them that surprised him. First was their color. In the darkness of the room, their bright shade of pink leapt out at him. He could almost say they glowed, even with his night vision. The second was the all-encompassing fear in them. This was beyond any momentary surprise at his presence. The girl was simply terrified of him on a most basic level. To her, he clearly represented some sort of punishment or threat that she was intimately familiar with. But instead of shrinking away from him, she remained on the bed he had made for her. She wasn't paralyzed, instead, the Mad Prince assumed that she had been conditioned to be still, resigned to what was to come.

His humane instincts seething with fury, Sheogorath placed a hand over the girl's mouth to prevent her from screaming. But he didn't think it was necessary; she had probably been trained for silence as well. Leaning close to her ear, but with his eyes always on hers, he whispered, "Can you understand me? Blink once if you can." She blinked, but the terror remained in her eyes. He went on, "I am Sheogorath." At this her entire body tensed, and his hand tightened reflexively on her mouth. A small whimper was all the sound the girl made, but she didn't try to move. The Mad Prince continued, "I don't know what you think you know about me. All I can tell you now is, I'm going to kill everyone in this tower as silently as I can. Will you try to stop me? Blink once for yes and twice for no." The girl blinked twice, quickly and without hesitation. At least she wasn't trying to lie, he thought to himself.

"I don't know why they were hurting you," he continued, still watching her fearful eyes, "or why you were locked in that room, but I'm here to free all of the slaves. Are you a slave?" She blinked twice in response. Odd. Sheogorath thought for a moment, then asked, "Were they torturing you on someone's orders?" She blinked once. "Molag Bal's?" Once again. Finally he asked, "and would you like to be free of him?" Again, she blinked one time. The Mad Prince gave her a small, encouraging smile. "That's why I'm here, then," he told her. "Now, if you can promise me you won't make any noise, I'll let you stay up here and wait. Can you promise that?" The girl blinked once again, still staring up at him fearfully.

Willing the divines to be merciful, Sheogorath released the girl's mouth. Instantly, she curled into a ball on the bedding he had laid out for her, doing her best to appear small and insignificant. He realized this was the position she had been in when he had found her in the spiked room. She was probably so used to sleeping that way that, even though she now had as much room as she wished, her body almost instinctively sought the safety of the fetal position. "Do you have a name?" the Mad Prince asked softly.

"Rathmi," she said just as softly, not looking at him. "Rathmi Aryon." Her voice seemed normal enough for a young Dunmer girl, but Sheogorath could swear he was hearing another speak in harmony with her. It was a deep bass, so low that he couldn't consciously perceive it. But that second voice seemed to resonate with the mana in him, like it was striking an instinctive tuning fork of some sort.

Perturbed, the Mad Prince placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. She flinched from the contact, but otherwise didn't react. "Be safe," he told her. "I'll come back when they're all gone, then I'll take you away from this place." After a moment, Rathmi nodded once, quickly jerking her head before going back to being motionless in her ball. Sheogorath stroked her skin with his scaly thumb, then stood and made his way quietly to the door.

"Be safe," he heard her say. He turned, grinning at her striking pink eyes as they welled with tears.

"Don't worry. I'll be right back."

* * *

Sheogorath glided silently across the room, flitting from shadow to shadow like a speck of dust carried by the slightest gust of air. From what he had seen of the tower from the outside, he guessed he was a little more than halfway to the bottom. The top few floors had been little more than storage, but had lacked the addition of a holding pen. Whatever the girl he had found was, the occupants of the tower had wanted her as far away from others as possible.

The next two floors had been what the Mad Prince was hoping to find: opulent, well decorated officer's quarters. Nothing screamed "important person" like meaningless landscape paintings hung on the walls. Alert guards had patrolled the halls, but they hadn't been a problem for a master of silence like Sheogorath. All he had needed was a small distraction to create a hole in their net: a small sound behind a dresser to distract the right guard. Then the poor man had a dagger sheathed under the back of his skull, instantly killing him with no chance of sound. With a pair of watchful eyes closed, the Mad Prince had been free to stalk the other guards like death itself.

Once the halls were cleared and the possibility for an alert being raised ended, each room was silently searched for anything valuable. Maps and documents were pocketed. Occupants, usually a soft, pudgy Imperial with anywhere from zero to three women, were dealt with quietly. Sheogorath hadn't really been bothered about killing the women: he doubted they were slaves. And he couldn't risk the chance of them screaming in fright when they awoke to their arms around a dead body.

Now, though, he was below those floors, and into what he suspected was a general barracks. There were fewer, if any, guards, and the stone-worked halls were gone in favor of sleeping space for the dozens of soldiers asleep in their beds. Sheogorath was glad he hadn't tried a frontal assault. With all of the fighters he had seen so far, he doubted his small group would have made it past the first floor.

Sheogorath made his way through a maze of sleeping men, wary of stepping on blankets, fingers, toes, or jingling valuables. He sighed in relief when he reached the stairs to the next floor down. The ceilings were getting higher at each level. At this rate, he suspected only one more floor separated him from the front door, and freedom. Making slightly less noise than a spider, Sheogorath eased the door at the bottom of the stairs open. It was there that things began to go horribly wrong.

Through a crack in the doorway, the Mad Prince watched a pulsing green ball of energy fall from the top of the doorway towards the floor. Time seemed to slow to a crawl as he recognized the spell. It was some sort of alarm spell, mixed with paralysis to stun whoever was trying to open the door. Of course it would fall on the other side: no one had expected an assassin to come in through the roof.

As he watched the spell drop, Sheogorath's mind raced. He couldn't fight through fifty soldiers, Daedric Prince powers or no. And he couldn't stop the spell without knowing its disarming code. He couldn't try to run past two floors of alerted soldiers; if he touched the spell trying to get a head start before they were awoken, he would be paralyzed. But he had to escape somehow, and fast! As he watched the spell continued its slow descent, Sheogorath came to a decision. He spun and charged back up the steps, all attempts to keep quiet abandoned in favor of speed.

Time seemed to return to normal as he reached the top step, and to the Mad Prince's dismay he felt like he had to be slower than a crippled tortoise. He guessed he had about three seconds before that spell hit the floor after not finding a body to bind to. He vaulted over a row of men on cots and tucked into a ball to pass through the opening in a bunk-bed, rolling to his feet and sprinting onward.

_Two seconds_

Sheogorath's foot planted on a bed-post and launched him across the room. His hands gripped a small chandelier and he used the momentum to swing safely over a large group of sleeping men. As he released the chandelier, he felt it give way and fall due to his unexpected weight.

_One second_

He cursed Talos and twisted in the air, planting a hand on another bed-post and vaulting the last, precious few feet to the door to the next level. He yanked it open and stepped through the threshold.

_Boom_

A massive blast of force, like localized clap of thunder, pulsed through the tower. Men cried out in pain from the direction of the stairs leading down, and many shouted in ire at being awoken so rudely. In the same moment, the chandelier crashed down onto a clump of Imperials struggling to rouse themselves. The result was terrifically chaotic. Sheogorath shut the door amidst the furor, and no one even gave the noise a second glance.

Turning, Sheogorath stared down the thick, blue-steel blade of a sword pointed as his face, between his eyes. At the other end was a Slavemaster, scowling dangerously. "Impressive, for a mortal," he hissed in a tone that would have frozen fire. "Molag Bal will be pleased to have you alive."

"I'm sure. Someone has to teach him how to defend a Realm properly. It may as well be me," the Mad Prince taunted. He knew the daedra's reflexes: if he tried to strike with the dagger, he'd be effortlessly cut down.

The Slavemaster's look morphed into a sickening grin. The sword, never wavering, shifted to Sheogorath's left shoulder. "Master Molag Bal simply said to bring you alive. He said nothing about you being whole." The sword glided forward to press against Sheogorath's shoulder. "Speak again, and you will lose the arm."

Then, suddenly, black flames sprang to life on the Slavemaster. The daedra shrieked in pain as it swatted at the dark fire, but that merely spread it to his hands and arms. Even his sword was ablaze. The next moment, the flames flared, blocking the Slavemaster from Sheogorath's view. And then the daedra was simply gone, along with the dark fire that had consumed it. Not even a pile of ashes or a scorch-mark betrayed where it had been consumed. Behind him, her hands raised and shaking furiously, was the young Dunmer girl, Rathmi. "Safe," she pleaded, tears in her eyes.

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**As always, I plead with my readers to review. I'm begging, send me your thoughts so I can make this an even better story for you!**


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